


we are but hopeful children

by boyofwonder, sunreyesss



Series: tear down the kingdom (and call out the liars) [1]
Category: DCU (Comics), Young Justice (Cartoon)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Alternate Universe - The Hunger Games Setting, Amalgamation of Comics & Show Canon, Angst, Canon Typical Powers, Canon Typical Violence, Character Analysis/Exploration, Developing Relationships, Exploration of Trauma and Violence, F/M, Found Family, Friendship, Humour, Hurt/Comfort, Introspection, Minor Character Death, Minor Roy Harper/Jade Nguyen, Slow Burn, the rating is for the violence not for smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-31
Updated: 2020-03-08
Packaged: 2021-02-25 16:08:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 68,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22498846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boyofwonder/pseuds/boyofwonder, https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunreyesss/pseuds/sunreyesss
Summary: In a Panem where the residents have powers, the Light pulls the strings from the shadows, keeping a stronghold on the citizens.Then comes the 46th Hunger Games. There’s something off about this year’s reaping. When the tributes are coincidentally comprised of the children of Panem’s best and brightest, someone is bound to take notice - and the Justice League does.But even if their mentors are involved in a conspiracy behind the scenes, there’s not much any of the tributes can do except accept their fate, and go along with what others have planned for them. Or, when the moment comes, create their own path…One thing is certain: these Games promise to be anything but normal.
Relationships: - Pre Relationship, Dick Grayson/Koriand'r
Series: tear down the kingdom (and call out the liars) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1618729
Comments: 5
Kudos: 29
Collections: 2019 Young Justice Big Bang





	1. The Reapings

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Lux in Tenebris](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/555343) by ClimbingUpTheWalls. 



> Title from The Last Lost Continent by La Dispute.
> 
> So, the Young Justice Big Bang!
> 
> After… many, many months it’s finally finished. This fic is a monster; it kept growing and growing until we had to split it to be able to reach the deadline. Therefore, this fic will be becoming a series! This is part 1 of 2, and we will be posting a chapter a day until it’s finished; we’re aiming for 5 or 6 chapters. 
> 
> This is a mixture of both the Young Justice cartoon canon, and the DC comics canon, and so some of the characters might be a little different from the show version. We have added many character cameos, and we’ve included several background ships, the main ones being Bea/Tora, Clark/Lois, Dinah/Ollie! Many more ships will come in part 2!
> 
> Art by the lovely and talented Mika ([weepingonyx](http://weepingonyx.tumblr.com) on Tumblr and [noiseofecho](http://instagram.com/noiseofecho) on Instagram), which we will link on the corresponding chapter. Also big thanks to the very helpful Betsy (hawthystuff) who was our beta!
> 
> We hope you enjoy reading it as much as we enjoyed writing it!

**12.**

Watching the woman onstage, Artemis couldn’t help but fixate on the perfectly manicured acrylic nails as she inserted her hand into the glass bowl. She felt as if her eyes had zoomed in, and she could look at nothing but her long nails scraping on the sides of the bowl, tossing the little papers around. Even though she was too far away to hear, she _felt_ the noise of nails scratching glass as if it were happening right next to her. Finally, what felt like eons later, she picked a slip of paper (too white, too perfectly cut), and stepped away from the glass bowl and back onto the center of the stage. Her chipper voice and bright clothes were all too wrong in Artemis’s home district, which seemed to be buried in shades of brown. 

"Artemis Crock." The crisp Capitol accented voice called out, the noise travelling as if through water. She must have heard it because her body reacted to it as if on autopilot and started walking towards the stage; as everyone knew you were supposed to do if your name was called. She didn’t flinch, she didn’t cry, she didn’t protest. She knew no one would volunteer for her; it wasn’t that kind of district and she wasn’t the kind of girl someone would volunteer for. She had to have heard, she had to have heard her name being called, but she didn’t really remember hearing.

The sun shone too bright in her eyes, not made better by the shiny clothes of the woman standing next to her. She tried to look at the crowd with steel eyes. She locked eyes with her sister, who didn’t look sad. But Artemis knew that didn't mean she didn’t care. It meant that she believed in her. It could be done. She could live.

But when she saw the other tribute walking towards the stage (at some point, the other woman had gone to the second bowl, scraped her nails against the glass again, picked another paper, and walked back next to her) she felt the first glimmer of doubt creep into her. 

When she saw his copper red hair (against the sun it was too bright, the only thing that wasn’t shades of brown in this goddamn district) she didn’t think of herself. She felt a pang of hurt in her chest, an overwhelming feeling of _this-isn’t-fair._ No, she didn’t think of herself; all the thoughts swirling like a tempest in her mind were of her sister.

She swallowed down the lump in her throat, quickly composing herself. She couldn’t afford to show sadness or the wolves would be on her in an instant. She straightened her back and, trying to appear as confident as she could manage, walked down the steps of the stage to be led into the Justice Building.

The room she was bustled into had signs of age on the walls and the furniture. Artemis tried not to fidget with the hem of her dress as she waited. She wasn’t under watch now, but she had to learn to restrain herself from showing any sign of weakness from now on, lest she be branded an easy target by the other tributes. Though how she would be deemed as anything but a threat as the daughter of two victors and the sister of another, she didn’t know. 

At that moment there was a small commotion from the other side of the door. It swung open and hit the wall with a thud, her dad’s booming voice carrying through the air, complaining about “the way victors are treated here, _honestly_.” Her mum followed after, wheeling herself in as fast as she could to wrap her thin arms around Artemis. Jade slunk in last, shutting the door behind her. Artemis studiously avoided her dad’s eyes as she slid out of her mother’s embrace. 

“Winning runs in the family, right, mom?” She was trying for levity but it just sounded flat.

She heard her mother call her name, voice cracking on the last syllable, but she was too focused on Jade. She met her sister’s eyes, almost dreading what she would see there – Jade had every reason to be torn, Artemis knew she was. This would be hard on her whole family – but her sister’s eyes were certain. 

She would live.

* * *

The goodbyes had been too short for Roy.

There hadn’t been much to say to Ollie and Dinah. They were going to the Capitol with him as his mentors, and the hugs they’d exchanged were more for support than farewells; which didn’t mean Roy didn’t grip them tightly in his arms nevertheless. 

His siblings had all visited him, crowding around him, voices overlapping.Mia and Cissie were the loudest, relaying statistics and advice at him in equal measure. Sin was quiet, holding his hand in a vice grip, and he could tell Emiko was trying to act strong and be the cool aunt she always said she was but he could see unshed tears gleaming in her eyes. Connor held back, leaning against the table with his arms crossed, waiting patiently. Once the girls had stopped crowding Roy, Connor came up to him and clasped him tight, winding both arms around Roy’s torso and wished him luck.

His whole family had been there for him, and he would never undervalue how important that was to him.He just wished he’d had more time with Jade.

To say he knew how she was feeling would be a lie. He remembered watching her Games, when the both of them had only been fourteen years old, and thinking how he’d never seen someone as determined as she was. He’d been in awe. And then she’d come back, alive, and somehow they’d found each other. Stolen kisses, murmured confessions of love and promises for the future. Long nights out in the woods beyond the district, fumbled caresses out under the sea of stars, lying on a spread out blanket. 

Now they had been separated again, but the last time they saw each other he couldn’t even think about himself, he couldn’t even think about the both of them, because Jade had just said goodbye to her sister. So yes, he wished he’d had more time with Jade, but he’d been hardly able to look at her. Because he was at a loss for what to say, and any words he could think of would’ve just gotten stuck in his throat anyway.

But they’d said goodbye, he’d left, and now that he was moping in his room he couldn’t stand himself anymore. So he gathered all his strength and went to the common area of the train, trying not to feel uncomfortable surrounded by all this wealth being wasted in pointless decorations and food that no one would eat whilst the people of his district were starving. 

He saw Artemis’s form sat on the sofa in front of the television, blonde hair free from its ponytail for once, and made his way over to her. She had her legs tucked up underneath her and was chewing on her nails. The noise from the television was background music to her worrying, since her eyes had glazed over and she seemed to be staring at the potted plant on the coffee table.

_“–Crock, the daughter of two victors! She’s one to look out for.”_

_“And her sister won the 42nd Hunger Games – maybe she gave Artemis some pointers.”_

_“She comes from a whole family of victors; unusual, for a District 12.”_

_“That’s right. That’s a family with a reputation, right there, and none of them ever shied away from the violence either. Makes you wonder: will she be as vicious as her family?”_

_“No matter what, Artemis Crock will definitely be a tribute to bet on.”_

She was watching the coverage of the reapings, he realised. 

“How long have you been watching?” His voice seemed to cut through her haze and she snapped up to attention, furrowing her brow at being caught off guard. She unfolded her legs and they dropped to the floor with a thud.

“It should start from the beginning again in a moment.”

“That’s not what I asked.” He sat down and looked at her. She must’ve been gnawing at her lip as it was bleeding. She looked smaller than he’d ever seen her, not a day older than her sixteen years. “How many times has it looped?”

She sighed, and looked down at her palms resting on her lap. “Two or three times? I wasn’t really paying attention.”

“Scouting the competition?”

“It never hurts to be prepared.” It may have been Artemis speaking, but it was Jade’s words that were coming out of her mouth. Roy sighed and shifted in his seat to face the television head on.

The reapings always, year after year, looked the same. People from the wealthiest districts volunteering, hoping to win fame and power – basically fighting each other for a chance to kill people on live television. People from the poorest districts looking like they wished this was already over – malnourished, their eyes sunken in, and resigned like they knew they were already dead. They most likely were. 

Roy tried to focus on the people who would be his opponents, he really tried. He did notice some things: how the girl from District 7 had one of the fiercest expressions he’d ever seen, and how the boy from District 3 was a volunteer, even though it was not a Career District.

But his mind was elsewhere. 

His mind, and his heart, was back at District 12. And he knew the only way he would go back would be in a body bag; because there was no way in hell he’d be able to live with himself and look Jade in the face if he came home without Artemis. 

**9.**

Conner felt out of place surrounded by his family. Which was weird, he thought, this should be where he felt safest. 

He was sitting at the breakfast table. Clark was pacing in the background talking to someone on the phone- Conner thought he could hear the deep baritone of Bruce Wayne. Lois was chatting with Ma and Pa while she fed little Jon, and Krypto was gnawing on a bone in the corner. It was as normal a scene as it could be, and the farmhouse exuded a familial comfort, yet Conner still felt like an outsider. 

They’d all been awake since way before dawn, such was the way of living on a farm. The chores had been done, and the house was spotless. Lois and Clark had stopped by to say hello, offer their support and good luck, and help them all prepare for the reaping. 

Clark hung up the phone, looking tense.

He walked over to Lois and put one hand on her shoulder and whispered something in her ear, just low enough that Conner couldn’t make it out without using his powers, before quickly making his way out of the kitchen. Lois sighed, and placed Jon in the high chair, brushing her hands on her trousers as she stood up.

“I think it’s time we all got ready. Ma, would you mind taking care of Jon’s diaper, Clark and I have something we have to discuss.” 

Martha smiled, scooping up Jon before carrying him up to the bathroom, muttering words of endearment at the baby, Jonathan trailing behind.

Lois turned to Conner and smiled at him, “Are you ok? You haven’t said much today.”

Conner looked away from Lois’s knowing gaze and nodded, not really feeling the need for having a long conversation about feelings. Lois accepted his silence and gave him a squeeze on the shoulder. 

“Good talk, kiddo.”

He was left standing alone- like he always was - unable to shake the feeling that he just didn’t belong.

.

They all walked together to the square, Conner hanging back and trying not to drag his feet too much, while he listened to Ma and Pa’s attempts at casual conversation. Lois and Clark had come back from their talk in a sombre mood, however, which fed into Conner’s worrying. Being separated from them to go stand with the other twelve to eighteen year olds was almost a relief. 

The heat was suffocating; like a blanket over the whole district, smothering them. They were all stood silently, waiting.

The escort stuck her hand into the bowl, her talon-like fingernails scraping the glass bottom with a screech that Conner heard from his place in the crowd. Opening the slip of paper, the woman called out in a crisp, clear voice:

“Kara Zor-El.”

The whole crowd seemed to hold their breath, before parting to reveal a blonde girl. She was short, and she didn’t seem particularly strong to him. She seemed to be trying to hold back tears as she dislodged herself from what must have been her friends all clamoring to hold on to her. One of them even let out a small wail.

He was so focused on the girl and the commotion her friends were making that he almost missed his name being called.

“Conner Kent.”

His eyebrows lifted in surprise, before he knitted them back into a scowl. He wouldn’t allow himself to appear weak. Taking an imperceptible breath, he strode over to the stage, climbing the steps. He looked over at Clark, who wasn’t looking at him; instead, the older man seemed to be having a silent conversation with Hal Jordan, both of them looking more serious than usual. 

He walked over to his place on the stage, next to where the other tribute stood and held out his hand for her to shake. She took it, her grip surprisingly strong. Conner furrowed his brows at this revelation; it turned out his district partner might be a force to be reckoned with.

.

They were sitting at the table in silence. The meal was lavish – every type of food you could think of was in front of them- but none of them had any appetite. Kara was twirling her spaghetti around on her fork. Conner was picking at his food with his knife, cutting it into little pieces.

Early on into the dinner, Clark had tried to strike up a conversation, but gave up when it soon became clear that Conner and Kara weren’t paying much attention. The silence was just becoming unbearable when Jennifer put her cutlery down with a clatter, and both kids looked up at her, startled.

“Moping isn’t going to do you any good.” 

Clark turned to face her, now distracted from what he was looking at on his Wayne-Tech tablet.

“Jennifer.” He said, his voice low but still amicable.

“Clark.” She said back, her tone slightly mocking. “We can ignore what happened, but that won’t change the fact that in two weeks they’ll be in the games, fighting for their lives just like we did. We need a game plan.”

Clark sighed, considering her words, before closing whatever program he was using on his tablet, and getting up the information on this year’s tributes. There was a rotating hologram of each tribute, in district order, with their name and age written on the side.

“These games look like they might be particularly difficult; almost all of the tributes have some type of connection to past victors, even from the ones that aren’t Career Districts. So that’s District 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 10 and 12.” He pointed at the corresponding holograms, brows furrowing and lost in thought for a second. “We can talk more about a game plan when we get to the Capitol and have more information. For now, I don’t want you to think about the end result. Just take it one step at a time, okay?”

Clark looked like he was going to say something else, but Jennifer cut him off. “You’re going easy on them.” She remarked, an undercurrent of steel in her tone.

As Jennifer and Clark bickered about strategy, Conner focused on the pictures of the tributes. This year’s competition looked stiff. His eyes zeroed in on the tributes from District 2. A brother sister duo, both eighteen, both big and bulking. The boys from District 4 and 5 were both tall and muscled. The boy from 11 was grizzled, even at 18, his face sharp and angular, accentuated with a cruel grin. The boy from 12 had muscular arms, and broad shoulders, and he looked like someone who’d experienced hard labour.

Clark turned away from Jennifer to point out the tributes from District 3 and the female tribute from District 7 to them. Both tributes from District 3 were proteges of Bruce Wayne. They were small, and even though they were both lithe, Conner didn’t count them as much of a threat. The girl from District 7 was the daughter of Diana Prince, the Amazonian Princess herself. She was tall, her arms defined, and as he looked at her hologram Conner immediately knew that she was someone that was better to have on your team than against you. 

The rest of the tributes didn’t look like much, and though Conner knew looks could be deceiving, he didn’t pay them much attention. He did note the boy from 10’s gnarled arms, a result of his meta abilities. The boy from 6 was a shock of red hair and freckles, and even his lightly muscled physique didn’t make him look less earnest. The girls were short and slender, the remaining boys unimpressive. The boy from 8 was sallow and gaunt. The girl from 12 looked athletic but skinny. The girl from 5 looked the most out of place, Conner thought, like she’d stepped right off of the set of one of those Capitol soap operas. Too perfect.

Conner looked over at his district partner, trying to gage what she was thinking. She was looking right at him, but she wasn’t really seeing him, instead lost in thought. She looked a million miles away. One of her hands lifted to absentmindedly rub her neck, right on one of the little bumps of the dampening collar. It made Conner think of his own collar; it was so high tech that he didn’t feel it under his skin anymore, but the place where the insertions had been made still stung. 

It was a small pain that grounded him, and brought him back to what Clark and Jennifer were saying.

“-You’re going to have to make alliances in the arena, it'll give you more chances of survival.” Jennifer continued. “Clark and I already have some ideas but we don’t have that much time, so we should be finalizing this by the second day of training.”

Privately, Conner thought he’d prefer to wait to reach the Capitol and see what the tributes were like in person before giving alliances even a cursory thought _._

It all depended on how they meshed with him. And anyway, it’s not like he really needed anyone else to survive. He would be fine on his own. 

**7.**

Donna released a breath while she brought her axe down on the wood with a satisfying thud. She wasn't supposed to be here right now, even if this wasn't a restricted section, per se; but the woods, with the chirping of birds and rustling of leaves, gave her a sense of freedom that she could, for a second, pretend was real. Today it was harder to believe, though. 

She repeated the motion a couple more times, with practiced movements, and gathered the armful of logs she was left with. It wasn't a practical way to carry them at all, but then again she hadn't really come here with practicality in mind. Making her way back, bark digging on her arms, she said a silent thanks and goodbye to the forest, and rushed to her home. 

"Home" wasn't necessarily one place, not for Donna. It meant community, it meant her people. This second, however, home meant Diana's place, as arriving to the reaping ceremony with a victor was her best bet for not getting in trouble if she was, as she suspected, late. 

She left the wood on the back porch and ran through the unlocked backdoor. Unsurprisingly, Diana was waiting for her ready with a smile and a change of clothes (Donna had been ready, she had, but the woods had left their mark on her clothes and she hadn't considered that when she'd made the split second decision to go there to clear her head). Donna sped through dressing up, put her hair up in a tight ponytail, and together they walked out and through the Victor's Village to the main square. 

There was something different in the air. She could feel something like a strength and a resistance from her people. Their own sort of defiance, despite how they were all still doing as they were told. It was as if the people of District 7 had had enough of pretending to be meek and mild to please the Capitol. The whole district seemed to be primed to erupt, just waiting for the right catalyst.

The square was quiet enough, though. They all filed in and walked in silence to their respective places. 

The heat was smothering, hanging over the district like a blanket, and wasn’t helping the mood of the district residents. Donna found herself scowling. 

The District 7 escort looked ridiculous in a red and black patterned avant garde body suit. Her blonde hair was separated down the middle with a severe looking parting and then swept up into two misaligned pigtails. She had stark white face paint, a black diamond painted around her left eye and a heart below her right eye. Her lips were painted red in a garish fashionable imitation of a clown’s grin. 

She pottered over to the microphone in her inane and impractical heels and leant into the microphone. When she spoke, her voice was like nails on a chalkboard. She went over the introductory pleasantries animatedly, before skipping over to one of the reaping balls. 

“Welcome all, I hope y'all’re excited for the reapin’! We’ve got the female tribute up first. Can a miss Donna Troy please come up to the stage and stand next to li’l ol’ Harley?”

Donna’s ears were ringing. She caught Diana’s eyes from where she was standing on the stage next to Artemis and Pamela, and that managed to cut through her haze. She got her feet to work. She hoped her little stumble wasn’t too visible to the cameras.

There was a heat in her chest that was equal parts fear and righteous anger, but as she passed the rows of little girls that were now relieved their name hadn’t been called, the latter took over. Better her than a 12 year old who couldn’t defend herself, or an 18 year old who had a whole family to take care of. She was more prepared, and she’d have Diana to help her. 

Donna got to the stage in record time. She went to stand in the designated spot while the male tribute’s name was being chosen.

“Mista Lucas Carr! Wouldja make your way up here please.” 

From her vantage point up on the stage Donna could see a gangly brunet start walking up to the stage. He was skinny and extremely short, which contrasted with his surprisingly mature face. He could’ve been any age, but Donna was leaning towards the upper end of the spectrum.

When he reached the stage, and went to stand next to her to shake her hand, a murmur spread through the crowd. Donna felt unease prickle at the back of her neck. Then there came a sudden cry from the audience. 

“Alalá! Alalá! Alalázō!” 

The crowd seemed to follow suit and in unison chanted “Alalá!” 

Then, in a ripple effect, came a gesture. As if unsheathing an imaginary sword from a scabbard on their back, they raised their fists in the air.

It was a declaration of war, Donna realized. The Capitolites watching at home wouldn’t understand, nor would any other district, but Alalá was the deity of the war cry, and coupled with the gesture it was unmistakable. She could only hope that nothing would happen to her district because of this act of defiance. 

.

She was quickly shuffled into a dusty little room in the Justice Building and told to wait while her family was brought in. It still felt surreal to her. Her grandmother Hippolyta came in first, embracing her and giving her words of wisdom, while when Artemis and Akila came to see her they went over battle strategy and told her about Artemis’ experience in the games. 

She barely had a moment of silence before her next visitor came barreling in. Cassie came in a little before Diana, jumping straight into her arms as soon as the door opened. Donna stumbled back at the sheer strength of Cassie’s hug. For a moment they said nothing, instead just enjoying the embrace; hoping it wouldn’t be the last time they hugged like this. 

Donna pulled back first, looking down at her little sister. “It’ll be easy, squirt. I’m gonna win the games and I’ll come back and we’ll be together again in no time.” She reached down and wiped a tear from her cheek. “It’s gonna be fine Cass, I promise.”

Cassie’s little face knitted itself into a scowl. “I’m not stupid, I know how the games work. _And_ I’m not blind. I’ve seen what’s going on in the district. It’s not easy...” 

Donna was struck with how much Cassie had grown. Donna still pictured her as the little 6 year old girl with pigtails and a gap toothed smile. She’d grown into a precocious pre-teen, pigtails sheared off to be replaced with a pixie cut, and Donna wondered at her intelligence. 

She was silent for a moment, chewing her lip. “I know it’s hard, but please try to win. I need you here with me.” 

They heard footsteps coming from the hall. Cassie grabbed Donna’s hand again, interlacing their fingers and squeezing tight. The door opened to reveal Diana and Steve in their fancy reaping attire- Diana in her ceremonial armour and cape, and Steve in his military garb.

Diana’s face was solemn, and she walked briskly into the room and swept Donna into her arms.

“My sweet girl, so young to be going off to fight.” Diana’s embrace was tight and felt like coming home. This was one of the things she'd miss the most.

Steve followed behind Diana, and was there to take Donna in his arms the second Diana let up. Donna felt tears spring to her eyes. Logically, she’d known that her family loved her. They’d expressed that the day they took her in after the fire, and every day after that. But being shown it, undeniably, was quickly becoming overwhelming. 

She cleared her throat and pulled back. Cassie was back at her side in an instant, grabbing her hand again and interlacing their fingers.

“Honestly, you’re acting like no one else in our family has been to the games. Artemis won hers, and so did you, Di. I’ll be ok.” Donna’s brave act wasn’t fooling Diana, but thankfully she let it go.

Diana reached forward and tucked Donna’s hair behind her ears. Her hands went down to cup Donna’s face and she tilted Donna’s chin up to look her directly in the eyes.

"May Hera give you strength to face whatever is waiting for you. Never lose your compassion and your faith in humanity, my wonder girl, but keep your head clear enough to know when greatest action needs to be taken.” She then touched their foreheads together; so close, her piercing blue eyes were a familiar comfort. “Be kind, fight for peace, but above all else, right now, fight so you can have a tomorrow." Diana pulled her closer and pressed her lips to Donna’s temple in a sorrowful kiss. 

Diana stood aside so Steve could say his goodbyes. He clasped her hand in both of his, and shook it solemnly. “Well, there's no way I can top that,” he tried for lighthearted, but sobered quickly. “Good luck, Troy.”

“I’ll see you on the train Donna.” Diana informed her, “You’ll have to go get fitted for your power dampening collar first.” 

With that, they both left the room, taking Cassie with them. Donna took that moment to let out a shaky breath. Everything would be fine.

The guards came in then, escorting her out of the visitor’s room and into one of the off limit back rooms, where she would have the collar put on. Once the process was complete, the attendant gave her a terse nod and gestured at the door. Donna understood what she meant, and was eager to leave the room. Outside there was a guard waiting for her. When he saw her, he grabbed her arm and began pulling her along. 

“Time to get on the train.” 

He pulled her through a side door, hidden deep inside the building. She couldn’t help but wonder why he was being so rough, and why the situation warranted secrecy. As soon as the door opened, and she heard yells, thuds and screaming, the reasoning became clear.

Was her district rising in revolt? Had the peacekeepers started the commotion? What was happening? 

As they neared the train there was a sudden bang. Everyone fell silent for a minute, as if assessing the damage, before the yelling resumed in full force. If possible, it was even louder now. 

The guard was now pushing her bodily towards the train, shoving her inside and closing the door behind her. The cameras had all been turned off; she didn’t doubt that none of the district officials would want this televised.

As soon as the door was closed, the train took off, leaving the platform and the district behind.

Donna couldn’t help but feel off kilter. This had been a tumultuous beginning to what could possibly be the last weeks of her life. 

**6.**

Wally’s slacks were ruined.

They’d been perfectly pressed by his mother for the reaping, and he’d crumpled them already. He tried to unclench his hands from their hold on the side of his slacks, but he couldn’t seem to make them move.

 _Today is the day,_ he thought.

He didn’t know what it was about this reaping, but there was a different feeling in the air, like a premonition. Of course, he didn’t believe in that magic-y mumbo jumbo, so he would be fine. Everything would be fine. He’d get through the reaping and then speed home to where his mother would be serving her world famous feast - all of his favourite food; everything! - as a congratulations for him making it through another year. 

It would all be fine. 

So why couldn’t he stop clenching his fists and just relax?

Their district’s escort was dressed in a hideous dress made of garish red and yellow fabric. It looked like she was trying to imitate District 6’s Victors' ‘Flash’ costumes, but the result left something to be desired. It looked painfully constricting, constructed in an intricate way that he couldn’t really figure out, and he had no idea how she moved in it. 

Wally was interrupted from his musings on her dress by her calling out the female tribute.

“Traci Thurston.”

The crowd parted and a small Eurasian girl with soft brown hair and a smattering of freckles ascended the steps to the stage. She had a pink dress on, and a matching bow in her hair, and she was worrying her lip. She couldn't have been older than 12, and Wally felt a pang in his chest the way he always did when a 12 year old was reaped.

She was surprisingly composed as she started walking up to the stage. About halfway through her journey to the stage a heart wrenching scream came from the audience. She turned, a look of pain flashing across her face, to look at the source of the sound. Wally turned too, and saw an older woman who must have been the girl’s mother. She was being held back by two young men who shared her look- the girl’s brothers, Wally thought.

He turned back to the girl and saw her stumble slightly before she righted herself. She then walked quickly over to the stage. 

The escort seemed not to notice the commotion. She tottered over to the other podium in her absurdly high heels and plucked a name from the glass ball. Once she was back at the microphone she cleared her throat and called out.

“Wallace West!”

For a split second, he had the crazy idea of running off, speeding away into the distance and leaving the district behind him. Then he turned his head slightly and caught Barry’s eye. From the look on his face Wally could tell that Barry knew what idea had just come into Wally’s mind. He gave Wally a look that screamed _‘Don’t you dare_ ,’ and Wally felt oddly comforted by the familiarity.

He took a deep breath, straightened his back, and made his way to the stage. Climbing up the steps, he turned to look at Barry and Jay, sitting in their victors chairs. Barry gave him a small smile and a discreet thumbs up.

He looked out at the crowd, where he could see his mom and dad. His mom was sobbing into his dad’s chest, and he had an arm around her, evidently trying not to cry himself. Next to them stood his aunt Iris and his cousin Bart. Iris was trying to comfort his mother, while Bart’s big eyes blinked owlishly, his little mouth twisted into a frown. He had untucked his dress shirt, and his hands were playing with the hem. 

Wally felt a sudden pang in his chest at the thought of never seeing them again. He glanced back to look at Barry and Jay again, then looked into the crowd at the rest of his family. He resolved then and there to do everything in his power to come back to them and bring honour to his district.

.

_Tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap._

His hands were tapping on his lap incessantly, leg jiggling up and down. He knew it must be annoying but he couldn’t stop it. He’d gotten used to the excess energy after the accident, but it slipped his control in times of stress. The collar dampened a lot of his powers, but it didn’t cancel out all of that extra energy.

_Tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap._

He was sat in the dining carriage eating. The best part of this whole experience was the food, he thought. If one forgot about the impending fight to the death, you could almost enjoy yourself, surrounded by all the delicacies of the Capitol. Spread out across the table was every food type imaginable. Sweet crumbly pastries and rich soups, refreshing fruit salads and crunchy vegetables, all freshly cooked and served. There were no less than 8 different types of rice. There was chicken, turkey, venison, veal, pheasant; any type of meat you could possibly want. He ate until he couldn’t any more. He was going to savor this.

He stood up then, suddenly desperate to move around and stretch his legs. He exited the food carriage and made his way through the train, passing through the different train cars and making notes of the smooth glide of the train on the tracks. He passed the refreshment carriage first, coming across the absurdly dressed escort. The lounge car was next, the room all but filled with luxury sofas and chairs. Wally thought he even saw a massage table in the back.

The dining car was where he found Barry and Jay. They were too busy going over strategy to notice him at first. He coughed. Barry looked up and met his gaze. 

“Hey champ, are you looking for something?” Barry’s tone was supporting, and Wally was beyond grateful to have Barry with him here.

Wally nodded, and gave him a grin. “I’m just going to find Traci.”

That seemed to satisfy him. 

Jay looked up at Wally’s voice. “She was in the entertainment carriage last time I checked,” he said.

Wally thanked him and they both went back to pouring over the papers they had scattered across the table; they’d always preferred analog technology to digital, which is why they didn’t use the new WayneTech tablets. Wally assumed that on those papers was all the information they had on every tribute.

He kept going, walking through the hallway, making note of the paneling on the walls and the connectors between each train car. 

Finally, he reached the carriage where Traci was sat. The entertainment carriage was busy whilst still managing to be non-cluttered; a flat screen television took up almost a whole wall and was showing a playback of the reaping. There was a surround sound speaker system on either side of the screen. The couch where Traci was curled up on was a monstrous thing, big and plush, made of soft cream coloured cotton with red and yellow accents embroidered on. Wally rolled his eyes at that. He wondered if the other tribute’s train carriages had nods to their previous victors too.

“Hey,” he called out. It felt too simple a word for the gravity of the situation.

She looked up at him, her wide eyes reminding him so much of Bart. She was barely older than him, and Wally felt a rush of guilt at wanting to win. He knew it was absurd, one of them would have to die for the other to get back home, but he felt guilty nonetheless. 

“Can I sit there?” he asked, motioning at the spot next to her.

She nodded, unfurling her feet out from under her to rest on the floor. “Go ahead.”

He sat down gingerly, painfully aware of all of his unruly limbs. She was so small, and way more graceful than he was. 

The silence didn’t stretch out very long but to Wally it was almost unbearable. He needed to break the ice.

“Have you had something to eat? The food carriage is amazing - everything you could ever want!” 

She turned to look at him then, letting out a startled giggle. The giggle quickly evolved into a laugh, and soon Wally found himself laughing along with her. 

“I stopped by earlier but you were too consumed with the food to notice me,” she informed him, “I thought I’d come here and at least see who our competition is. I did press the button on the wall that brings up a menu of food to choose from though- I chose chocolate cake.” She sounded proud of her decision.

“A worthy choice,” he grinned at her, feeling happy when she grinned back. 

“Did they give you a collar too?” She asked, seemingly out of the blue. “My neck is still sore when I press on it.” 

He could see her rubbing at it, and he felt a sympathetic twinge in his own neck. “They did. You see, I have the same powers as both of the victors. I’m super fast. And if I had my powers, then the competition would be - well it would be over in a flash.” A goofy grin spread across his face at his own joke.

Traci grimaced and shoved his shoulder, unimpressed. “That was an awful joke.” She informed him, but she was smiling so he counted that as a win.

“What’re your powers?” He asked her kindly.

“Magic,” she replied, sagely. “It’s complicated.”

They looked at each other in silence for a moment before bursting into laughter again.

“I like you, kid,” he told her. She smiled at that.

“Would you mind starting the playback of the reaping over again?” he asked, “I need to scout out the competition too. Maybe we can even compare notes.”

With that, she picked up the remote and pressed the rewind button, bringing the recording back to the beginning. The Capitol fanfare played out from the speakers and the playback started.

The girl from District 1 was stunning. Wally’s eyes were drawn to the dip of her neckline and the swell of her breasts, skin glowing radiantly. Her district partner was a pale slip of a man with a cruel smile. Wally decided that he didn’t like him very much.

The girl from 3 looked elegant and refined, and had a smattering of freckles along her collarbone. He thought her red hair and freckles made her _incredibly_ attractive, if he did say so himself. The boy from her district was shorter than her, and had smooth light brown skin and slicked back thick black hair. He had a calm expression on his face, and a small smile. He looked like someone Wally would want to be friends with.

The girl from District 4 also had orange hair and freckles, and she looked sweet but sad. Wally could relate. Her district partner’s dark brown skin looked striking alongside the turquoise of his clothes. 

The green skin of the District 5 female tribute peaked Wally’s interest. Even her freckles were a darker shade of green. The scowling boy from District 9 held his interest for a passing moment, as he held some similarities to his district’s most famous victor.

The most interesting tributes were the pair from District 12. The boy had red hair like Wally, but a deeper shade, and his eyes were blue instead of green. What caught Wally’s attention though was how broad his shoulders were, and how muscled his arms were. But the real catch was the girl. She had light brown skin which contrasted nicely with her thick blonde hair, swept back into a high ponytail, the end reaching her waist. She had muscled arms too, though she was smaller. She had high cheekbones and warm brown eyes. Her full lips were turned down into a frown, much like the boy from District 9. Privately, Wally thought she wore it better. 

The reaping ended and the Capitolite commentators appeared on screen, expressing their thoughts and opinions about the reaping a mile a minute - and Wally would know what that sounded like. Wally tuned them out, running through all the information he’d just taken in. 

Whatever the outcome, this was sure to be an interesting year, and Wally found himself oddly anticipating meeting the other tributes.

**5.**

Big crowds always gave M’gann a headache. On a good day, she was great at hiding her powers – she was always great at pretending, as she had to be. The downside of hiding so much, and pretending so much, however, was that when she got overwhelmed she wasn’t entirely sure how to deal with that.

And crowds were overwhelming. Especially on a day like this.

It wasn’t that every person was being loud, themselves. No, it was more of a constant rumble of people worrying, a mangling of thoughts and wishes that some people were telegraphing so clearly, as if someone could listen to them and make them come true. _Take everyone but my son._ _It’s my sister’s last year, let her survive this. I don’t deserve to go. We don’t deserve to go_.

Well, someone was listening. There was just nothing M’gann could do about it, except join the chorus of voices in her head. _Please, let me live one more year_.

The rumble got quieter when the Capitolite man waltzed onstage, with that hideous flair that existed nowhere but in the Capitol. Though M’gann couldn’t help being a little in awe.

“Welcome, everyone, to the annual reaping for the 46th Hunger Games! It is now time to select the tributes that will have the honor of fighting for your very own District 5.” He seemed to actually enjoy the role he had, and M’gann instantly hated him. “As always, ladies first!”

He walked towards the reaping ball on his left, shooting a mischievous look at his audience, as if this was all a game they were willing participants for. Maybe that’s what it was like for the people in the Capitol. 

_M’gann M’orzz_.

Hearing her own name was the one thing that managed to make the rest of the world fade out. The chorus of the crowd disappeared from her brain, and she reeled back, disbelieving, unable to breathe for a second. But she caught herself and made sure she was presentable – as if she hadn’t double and triple checked before leaving her house –, tucking her hair behind her ear and flattening her skirt. 

It was only when she took a step forward, that she realized the man had never opened his mouth, and was only now leaning towards the microphone. Hoping for a dramatic effect, probably, he had paused after reading her name and before saying it out loud. Stupid, stupid mistake. But one nobody seemed to have noticed. Now, when he did call for her, at least she was prepared. All the emotions she was sure had showed on her face at first – the grief and the desperation and the hopelessness – were carefully covered up when the cameras zoomed in on her.

So she lifted her chin up, put on a pleasant smile, and tried to seem as innocent as she could. She was compliant with the peacekeepers that escorted her; she was no troublemaker. There was nothing about her that should scream _threat_. She’d made sure of that. There was a reason she went around with green skin.

“Now, M’gann, we do need to find you a partner.” The man said, like they were buddies. M’gann wanted to punch him, but instead, she kept her smile up. “It’s time for the boys!”

He made a theatrics out of picking a slip of paper, and when he settled on one, he waved it triumphantly at the crowd with a flourish of his hand. Was this guy completely oblivious to what this meant for all of them, or did he think acting like this would take some of the pain away? 

He cleared his throat, let the silence linger for a few seconds – there was that dramatic pause she had missed before – and announced: “Victor Stone.”

There was a cry from the crowd, and M’gann’s eyes found their way to the couple holding each other, clearly the boy’s family, only keeping themselves in check at the thought of not causing any problems for their kid. They weren’t a hard read, their thoughts all over the place, almost screaming at her. And the tribute (Victor, she corrected herself; he was a person, he had a name, he wasn’t just a player in all this) when he stepped forward, face stoic, seemed to be more calm – but only _seemed_ to be. He couldn’t be any older than her. She tried not to let her heart break for him, and for his family, and was almost successful. Almost.

Then, in a second, it was all over, as it always was, and they were off to say their goodbyes. Except there wasn’t much to say goodbye to, not for M’gann. Goodbye to J’onn, who’d always taken care of her, who she’d thought was cold, at first, but now he gave her the warmest hug. He would be going with her, anyways, as a past victor and now her mentor. And there were no more goodbyes; not for a district that had always made her feel like an outsider, where she’d never quite fit in. 

* * *

The car ride to the train was already making Victor feel uncomfortable. The synthetic leather seats seemed to be specifically manufactured to look expensive and feel like sitting on concrete. The driver was incredibly impersonal, not even once looking at them nor saying a word. The glass was tinted, but not tinted enough that he couldn't see the peacekeepers lining their path. And the other tribute, next to him, seemed to be studying him, shifting a couple times like she was about to say something, but never doing so. Or maybe Victor was just upset and hyper aware of his surroundings. 

Saying goodbye to his parents was even harder than he'd thought it would be, not only because of the separation and the possibility of never seeing each other again – of them having to see their son die live on television –, but also because he felt suddenly overwhelmed with guilt. It was like a heat spreading from his chest, choking the air from his lungs and making his limbs tingle; and sitting on the car, unable to go for a run to make himself feel better, he couldn't shake it off.

He felt so childish, in retrospective. Not that he was entirely wrong; his parents had been overbearing, and sooner or later he would've had to somehow break free from them. But he'd gone at it the worst way. He'd barely seen them for the past year, throwing himself at any hobby that would mean never crossing paths with them (hard, given their position as Head Scientists), only going home to eat and sleep; and sometimes not even that, when he had whatever excuse to go somewhere else. 

The day before the reaping – as if, subconsciously, he knew something would happen, even though his family had money and his name was only in the reaping ball a handful of times – Victor had gone back to try to make amends. However, when no involved parties saw themselves in the wrong, "making amends" only ended in a screaming match, which in turn ended in him leaving to spend the night at Ron's, avoiding his parents until after his name was called up.

So, hugging his dad and trying not to cry on his mom's shoulder, he had felt like a complete hypocrite. 

He'd not looked at his district partner yet, not even once. Hell, he didn't even remember her name from the reaping; he'd been so caught up in his own head. Here, feeling her piercing gaze on him like a fiery brand, he felt like an open book. Like his every struggle was on display. 

He was thankful for the two seconds of fresh air he got before they were rushed from the car to the train. At least in the train – a short ride, as they were close to the Capitol – had enough space for him to move. 

As soon as he got on the train he was accosted by his district partner.

“Hi!” She lifted a hand in a sheepish wave; her voice was too bubbly for the current situation. It was grating on his already less-than-stellar nerves. “You’re Victor, right? I’m M’gann. Can I call you Vic?”

He shrugged. It didn’t matter what she called him, it wasn’t like they were gonna be friends.

She didn’t seem to mind his lackluster response, or if she did she took it in stride. “The train is really cool, don’t you think? It must have 20K horsepower at _least_.” 

“Mhmm,” he said, noncommittally.

“Have you tried the cookies? They’re really good!” She attempted again. 

“Nah.” 

She seemed to notice then that he wasn’t exactly being very forthcoming with his responses.

“I’ll leave you to it then” she said, smoothing down her skirt as she stood up. He felt bad for not trying to engage with her, but his personability had taken a huge hit that day. “I’m going to go talk to Uncle J’onn.”

.

He was sat in the refreshment carriage, sulking over a bottle of soda like it had personally offended him, when Ted found him. 

“Lost in thought?” came his voice. Vic looked up at his mentor and took him in. He didn’t look like much at first glance, but if he’d won the Games there had to be something more to his harmless appearance. He looked like someone’s kind uncle. “I noticed M’gann leaving here in a rush earlier. She seemed kind of upset.”

Vic didn’t answer.

“Is avoiding and isolating yourself from everyone your strategy for the games too? Or is this just how you plan on attracting sponsors and making allies?” Vic gave a noncommittal shrug. He didn’t trust himself not to be short with the other man if he tried to actually reply. 

Ted let out a resigned noise, and walked over to stand next to Vic. Pouring himself a 2 fingers of whiskey, he turned casually to face Victor. “How about we watch some of the older games together? Go over them, analyse what went right and what went wrong. Maybe do something that’s more constructive than just standing here ruminating over some drinks.”

Vic pondered that for a moment; he didn’t see any downside to that. They could sit in silence and watch the games, and he could get the old man off his back at the same time as getting valuable tips. “Sure.”

Ted smiled at that, and gestured for Vic to follow him, exiting the refreshment carriage and leading him down the corridor to the entertainment car.

“Sit down there Vic, I’ll just be a moment,” he said before disappearing through another door.

He returned with a box in his hands, filled with old VHS tapes. He selected one from the pile, running his fingers over the spines of the tapes until he found the one he wanted, before placing it into the open slot. 

The Capitol fanfare blared out loudly through the speakers, and then the games began.

The video started with a shot of the entire arena viewed from up high. It was a dry landscape decorated with plateaus and shallow looking ponds. There were huge trees scattered around. Everything was like that: huge. The cornucopia was small in comparison, in the exact center of the arena, and the camera closed in on it as the tributes started rising from their pods. Vic had a vague memory of having watched these games, but he couldn’t place them yet.

“These are the 42nd Hunger Games, from four years ago.” Ted said, answering his unasked question. “The victor was Jade Nguyen, District 12. Fourteen years old.”

The screen showed a close up of all twenty-four tributes’ faces as they took in the arena for the first time, their names and stats written on the side. Jade was the last to appear, a determined look on her face. 

The gong sounded and chaos erupted. He tried to keep his eyes on Jade, focus on anything that might help him win as she had. She went straight to the cornucopia, a fast runner and the first to reach the mouth. She started stacking weapons on herself, sticking them into slots in her suit; mostly knives and daggers. She had just grabbed two short swords when a second tribute got to the cornucopia, going straight towards her.

Quicker than he could process, she had spinned around and slit his throat. The camera was too far away to see her expression; he could only see her grab a backpack and make her exit, all on her own. She swiftly dodged anyone else that came near, slashing with her swords if one of them came too close. No mortal wounds other than the first one, Vic thought.

The highlights showed a few different moments of the bloodbath, and when it finished – nine tributes already dead – Ted paused the tape and turned towards Vic.

“Can you tell me what people’s mistakes were?”

Vic was stumped by the question. He’d been looking for what people did right – the people left alive were fast, strong, knew how to fight, or had run off immediately. Jade had also caught a lot of his attention. He was _supposed_ to look at the one who’d win, right?

Ted wasn’t deterred by his silence. “Every time I do this my tributes focus only on the victor. I probably didn’t help by telling you who it was immediately. I guess that’s part of the exercise.” He shrugged. Vic really wanted him to get to his point. 

“It’s as important to look at the ones who _lose_ as it is to look at the one who wins.” He pointed at the screen, where it had paused on Jade running, swords still in her hands. “No two victors win the games the same way, but usually people lose them because of the same mistakes. In the bloodbath, it’s things like not watching your back, not knowing your limits, being too greedy. Even just the decision to run _towards_ the cornucopia can be a mistake in itself. I didn’t.”

“Should we watch it again?” Vic asked, to his own surprise. 

Ted shook his head. “No, it’s okay. We can focus on that again for the next games we watch.” So they were going to be here a while.

He pressed play again, and they watched Jade look for water, food, and shelter – in that order. Ted made a comment about almost every decision she took. She knew how to handle herself; it was jarring to see the small fourteen year old be so resilient, never letting any pain show on her face. 

Food and water seemed to be abundant at first, at least for Hunger Games standards. Then the real threat showed up: the mutts. They all looked like prehistoric animals, but were probably more bloodthirsty than the real animals had been. Just seeing them on the screen made Vic glad these weren’t his Games.

They were looking at a pair of tributes trying to escape a crocodile type creature.

“It would be a smart decision to climb the tree like they’re doing–”

“–But they’re trapped up there now. They didn’t notice the pterodactyl flying above them.” Vic interjected. Ted - still mid sentence - turned to look at him, a small smile on his lips.

“That’s right. You’ve got the hang of this already.”

Sure enough, the pterodactyl attacked them next, and they both fell off the tree right into the crocodile’s jaw. Vic suddenly wished he _hadn’t_ been right.

In the end, it came down to Jade and a tribute from District 7. The mutts backed away, leaving them to face only each other. The guy from 7 hesitated. Jade didn’t. 

When Ted got up to put in a different tape, Vic realized he was enjoying spending time with his mentor, despite the grizzly activity of watching past games. It was nice having a conversation with an adult who actually listened to him, and made the effort to understand and communicate with him. He only wished that it didn’t take getting reaped into the Hunger Games for it to happen.

**4.**

Kaldur was floating on his back in the turquoise sea; his hands cutting through the water’s surface in slow circles. The sky was clear, the water was the perfect temperature, and as still as a mirror. By all accounts, it should’ve been a perfect day. 

“I should’ve known I’d find you out here,” came a voice to his left.

He straightened himself out immediately and turned around, treading water. There was a figure coming towards him, obscured by the sunlight shining behind him, but Kaldur would know him anywhere.

“Garth, my friend.” He smiled warmly, reaching out to clasp the older man’s hand in greeting.

“You always come out here when you need to think, or be alone.” Garth’s eyes crinkled as he smiled. 

“Today is the day,” was all he said.

He lay next to Kaldur and they both floated side by side for a while.

“Garth, how did you feel the day of your reaping?” he asked, disturbing their comfortable silence.

Garth looked over at Kaldur with an inquisitive look.

“Nervous, mostly. It’s a big honour to be chosen to volunteer. You’re only a year older than I was. I didn’t really grasp the situation at the time, the full magnitude of it. You want to succeed to bring honour to your district, but they never tell you just how hard fighting for that honour can be.” He studied Kaldur’s face intently. “Why do you ask?”

Kaldur looked down at his toes, peeking out of the water. He took a minute to gather his thoughts before he spoke. “I don’t know if I can do it. What if I fail? What if I bring shame to my family and my district? To Arthur...”

“Kaldur, you’re one of the most skilled fighters in our district,” Garth’s face was deathly serious. “I have all the faith in the world that you will win the games and come back the exalted hero.”

Kaldur stared into Garth’s eyes, seeing the sincerity the shined in them. He started to reply, but found himself choking up. “Thank you my friend.”

Garth reached out and grasped Kaldur’s hand firmly in his own. “Of course, Kaldur. You’re my oldest friend.”

All the talk of the reaping had sombered their mood slightly. The stayed in the water a little while longer, splashing each other and joking around, but their hearts were no longer in it.

Eventually, they made their way out of the water and dried off, hugging each other warmly before parting ways. 

Once he got home, Kaldur showered quickly to wash the salt water off of his skin, and then got dressed in his ceremonial clothes once he’d stepped out of the water. The clothes had been given to him by previous Hunger Games victor, Orin - Arthur to his friends.

It was a deep turquoise kaftan, the border embroidered with an intricate design in gold. His fitted trousers were a slightly darker turquoise and his black dress shoes had been immaculately polished. He felt older in the ceremonial garb, more confident. 

He looked the picture of a perfect victor. 

.

The wind moved the salt from the sea inland through the air, and ruffled his kaftan. 

Though the whole district was assembled in the square it was oddly silent, the only sounds coming from the waves crashing against the shore. 

He saw Arthur on stage, dressed in his ceremonial Atlantean armour, radiating strength and nobility. Mera was sat at his side. She looked radiant in a green loose flowing dress which contrasted pleasantly with the loose red waves of her hair, her baby bump barely visible under all the layers. 

Kaldur’s attention was pulled back to the escort, as he watched her pluck out the slip of paper from the girl’s reaping ball and announce the name of the female tribute. 

“Tula Marius!” 

The crowd seemed to come alive then, gasping and whispering amongst themselves. 

For his part, Kaldur was struggling to take in a breath. He couldn’t quite believe it. The year he was meant to volunteer, he would be competing against one of his closest friends.

He saw Tula slip through the crowds and approach the stage. She took her place next to the escort, looking beautiful in her dress but her face was full of sorrow. Kaldur had to steel himself, the boys would be next and he had to be ready to volunteer. The consequences for his family of him not volunteering were too horrible to think about.

When the escort called out the name of the male tribute, Ronal Triton, Kaldur was ready. He recalled Garth’s words. _I have all the faith in the world that you will win the games..._ They gave him a sense of calm. 

“I volunteer as tribute.” he called out, his voice clear and crisp.

Yes, he would be going into the arena alongside his best friend, but he knew that he had the skills necessary to bring one of them home. Which one that would be, he supposed only time would tell.

.

His goodbye’s were heartfelt. His parents came in first, his mother covering his face in kisses and singing his praises. His father close behind to offer his support too. Garth came next. As soon as the door opened he strode over and pulled Kaldur into his arms. 

“It’s ok. I am ok.” Kaldur informed him.

“I know,” he mumbled into the crook of Kaldur’s neck. He pulled back to look at him.

“Promise me you’ll at least try. I can’t -” he cut himself off there, his voice wavering. “I can’t lose both of you. Bring her home, or come home yourself, just make sure District 4 has a victor this year.”

His classmates from the conservatory came in last, crowding him and giving him tips and advice. 

He was then taken to a side room and sat on a cold metal chair. The attendant’s rubber gloves were cold against his skin and made him shiver, along with the chill from the chair.

The contraption that was to insert the collar looked like one of those medieval torture devices from the time before Panem that Kaldur remembered from his history textbooks. It was a flat sheet of metal that went around his neck, and had thick needles jutting out at 7 different points around his neck. Inside each needle were the chips that would be inserted underneath his skin. 

The attendant had an assistant with them, who looked too chipper to be working there. When she saw Kaldur looking dubiously at the machine, she leant in and whispered good naturedly, “Don’t worry, the collar only dampens your powers, it doesn’t remove them completely. It’ll get removed with no fuss if you win the games, and you’ll be back to normal!”

The attendant pressed a button and the machine whirred to life. It lit up in a light blue and the needles extended out and sunk into his skin. There was a beep and Kaldur felt the small chip coming out of each needle and embedding itself into his epidermis. 

The attendant who operated the machine muttered something to her assistant that Kaldur didn’t seem to hear. It made sense to the assistant because they got out a little control and pointed it at his neck. Yet another button was pressed and Kaldur felt little tendrils emerging from the chips and extending out to intertwine with the tendrils from the chip on its right. It was the weirdest feeling, like an itch you were unable to scratch. 

“What- what is happening?” He croaked out.

“It’s completely normal,” the assistant assured him, “The chips need to connect to each other for it to work properly. Of course each singular chip has power dampening properties but when they’re all linked together they work the best!” 

The attendant leant in and examined Kaldur’s neck. She seemed satisfied with what she saw and nodded to the assistant, removing her gloves and disposing of them.

“Ok!” the assistant chirped, “You can get up now - why don’t you look in the mirror?”

Kaldur did as he was told, walking up to the mirror to look at his neck. He lifted up his chin to see his neck better. The chips he’d felt be inserted left little raised bumps on his skin. That was the only indication that anything had happened though; the tendrils he’d felt were invisible, deep under his skin. 

He turned back to look at the attendant and she gave him the universal go ahead sign. He nodded and exited the room. Arthur was waiting outside, ready to take him to the train.

“It all went all right?” He asked good naturedly.

“Yes. Everything is fine.”

“We better be on our way then. We don’t want to miss the train.”

.

The train car felt like another universe.

The contrast between the cool aquatic tones of District 4 and the plasticky fake golds of the train was stark. It made Kaldur feel slightly off kilter; like he didn’t belong there.

He looked at the girl sat next to him; his best friend, Tula. She had not spoken a word since they had boarded the train. He had thought she would retreat to her room, but she surprised him by making her way to the television car. An hour had passed, and she was still sitting in front of the screen watching the reaping.

It was not fair that she had been picked, and Kaldur wished he could do something, change something, make her feel better. He placed his hand on top of hers, trying to offer some semblance of comfort. She looked at him then, her eyes glistening with unshed tears, and gave him a watery smile before turning back to the reaping.

Concentrating his eyes on the screen as well, he tried to consume all the relevant information on his opponents. There were some who caught his eye. 

He knew he should focus on the tributes from 1 and 2, since they would most likely be expected to team up, but his gaze was drawn elsewhere. The sulking boy from District 9. The copper haired man from District 12 and his scowling blonde district partner. The slender boy from 3, with the intelligent glint in his eye. The fresh faced red headed boy from 6. 

He felt Tula shift beside him, and turned to look at her. 

“Did Garth come to see you?” she asked. She’d been worrying her bottom lip, and it was all puffy and red.

“He… He did.” He didn’t know how much to tell her, worried that it would make her already delicate mood even worse.

She seemed to sense the reason for his hesitation. “It’s ok Kaldur, he told me the same thing as you. He said one of us will have to win.”

It’s silent for a moment, an awkward silence that they’d never experienced in their friendship before. It was hard to think of something to say when you were faced with the possibility of you or your best friend dying.

Tula sighed. “Half of me wishes he were here with us. He always knows the right thing to say to make you feel better.” 

“That’s the thing about being in a Career District, there’s no shortage of victors. Garth will have to wait at least a few years before he can become a mentor.” Kaldur said. “Though, him being here would make things less painful.”

He paused for a moment, fully considering Tula’s words. “He _always_ knows the right thing to say? Were you not there the day at the conservatory when he tried to talk to Lori? He fumbled his words so badly she asked him if he was ok.”

Tula let out a startled laugh. “I missed that day! Did he ask her out in the end?”

Kaldur’s lips quirked up in a wry grin. “Not at all. After she asked if he was ok, he made a strangled noise and just sped away from her. He avoided her until he graduated.” 

At that, the pair dissolved into laughter once more.It felt nice to laugh with her, a sweet respite in their bleak present.

They fell into silence again, but this time it was comfortable. 

“What do you think the Capitol will be like?” Tula asked him. 

“I don’t know,” he told her, and it was the truth. He’d heard stories about the Capitol of course, from Arthur and then from Garth. It always sounded so spectacular in the stories. Towering skyscrapers full of windows that glittered in the sunlight, and everyone dressed extravagantly in the latest fashion. 

But those were all stories. He didn’t have a clue which were real and which were embellished. 

“I bet it’ll be magical.” Tula breathed, her voice dreamy.

Kaldur turned away from her, to look out the window. It hurt too much to see her smile like that, knowing that only one of them was going to make it home.

He answered without looking at her. “I bet it will, too.”

**3.**

Barbara’s glasses kept sliding down her nose as she looked down at the circuitry on top of the table. She only had a few things to tweak before she could add this part to what was becoming a monstrous computer taking up half of her room; it was slowly but steadily shaping up, a mix of parts she could get through the regular channels, and parts that she’d... _borrowed..._ during her internship at Wayne Enterprises.

She’d crossed paths with Bruce Wayne often, anyways, and she got the distinct feeling that he _knew_ but didn’t really care – at least, not yet –, so Barbara refused to feel guilty about it. 

She didn’t know what she’d use it for yet, but she knew she wanted to build something to help others. She was so intensely focused that she missed when the door to her room opened, and she barely stopped herself from startling when she felt someone leaning over her shoulder. 

Her dad hummed appreciatively. “It’s looking better every day,'' he said. Barbara knew he didn’t really know that, as technology and her dad didn’t entirely get along, at least by District 3 standards. But she appreciated his effort to get involved with her interests.

“Thanks, dad.” She smiled at him without looking up from her work.

He was silent for a few seconds, like there was something he wasn’t sure how to word. “I need to stop by Mayor Montoya’s to sort some things out to make sure everything runs smoothly today. Are you… okay going to the square alone?”

Barbara finally put down the tools she was working with and looked at her dad; his ginger hair was becoming grey on the temples, and the crinkles by his eyes made him look even older, and tired. “Yes, dad, go do what you need to do.” She tried for reassuring, and there was no lump in her throat or knot in her stomach, but she still wasn’t sure how successful she was. 

He looked at her for a few more seconds, then kissed the top of her head and walked out. She took a deep breath and let go of the air slowly, steadying herself. Barbara had always been good on her own. 

.

The walk to the Wayne manor in Victor’s Village was brief, and she’d made it so many times it was practically muscle memory by now.

She lifted the brass lion door knocker and slammed it down a few times. The door opened shortly after, and the sight of Alfred greeted her. 

“Miss Barbara.” He welcomed her in with a warm smile, gesturing towards the hallway. The whole family was already ready to leave, gathered together and sorting out their finishing touches. Jason was tugging at Tim’s collar while the younger boy tried to stop him, Cass was helping Damian put on his shoes and Duke was already ready, standing to one side and looking proud of himself for beating his siblings.

Barbara went down the line of Wayne kids, greeting them all one by one. She squeezed Damian’s chubby cheeks, gave Duke a high five, fixed Tim’s collar, hugged Cass and smoothed down Jason’s hair. 

She came to a halt in front of Dick, who gave her what he must’ve thought was a subtle once over. 

"Wow, Babs, did you put _effort_ into your outfit this time?” The words coming out of his mouth were in contrast to his facial expression, softening the blow.

She sighed and reached out to straighten Dick’s tie.

“You should focus on your own appearance, Boy Wonder.” She teased. His cheeks grew pink and he ducked his head.

Dick was saved from more teasing by Bruce’s looming presence coming down the stairs, gruff as always, and seemingly in a rush. He nodded at her in greeting and rounded up his kids like rowdy zoo animals. 

“We should’ve left 5 minutes ago. Are you all ready?” He paused, waiting for a reply. When none came, he repeated himself, slightly louder this time. “Are you all ready?”

There came a chorus of yeses and Bruce made a noise of confirmation. He opened the door to usher them all out, and off they went.

Babs slipped out after Dick, and the slam of the door had an air of finality to it.

“Today is the day,” Dick’s voice was uncharacteristically serious.

They walked together to the reaping. Barbara held Cass’ hand in comfort, keeping up a steady stream of conversation to stop the younger girl from dwelling on her first reaping. It was Jason's first time as well, and he was uncharacteristically quiet. He’d been gnawing on his nails and Dick had to pull his hand away from his mouth.

Once they reached the square, they all split up. Alfred took the younger kids off to stand with everyone else who was ineligible to be reaped, Bruce took his place on the stage with the other victors, and Dick, Jason, Cass and Babs waited in line to get their fingers pricked before going to stand in their designated areas. 

The escort seemed to take her time selecting the name of the female tribute, as if he were taunting them. He plucked the slip of paper out of the bowl and leant in close to hiss into the microphone.

“Barbara Gordon!”

Babs felt like all the air had been punched from her lungs. She swayed a little in place, and felt a hand at her back steadying her. She looked to her right to see Bette Kane.

“You can do this,” she whispered, and gently nudged her along. Babs straightened her back and took a step forward, and then another, and another until she reached the stage.

She locked eyes with Kate as she made her way up the steps. The older woman gave her a reassuring smile, though it didn’t reach her eyes. 

Then the escort picked out a name from the other bowl and leant into the microphone. Clearing his throat dramatically, he called out the second tribute’s name. 

“Jason Todd.”

If her name being called was a worst-case scenario, this was one she’d never anticipated. She spotted Alfred in the crowd; the older man looked shaken in a way Babs had never seen before. In his arms he held Damian, who didn’t seem to understand the gravitas of the situation. He seemed to be looking for Jason, confused by the familiar name. Next to them, she could see Steph covering her mouth with her hand, tears spilling from her eyes. On Alfred’s other side, Tim and Duke didn’t look better off. Tim was gripping the barrier rope so hard his knuckles had turned white, and Duke had buried his face into Alfred’s blazer, as if hiding his face would make this less real.

She looked for Cass then, worried for her because she was alone; at least the other kids had Alfred. She was almost swallowed by the sea of people, but Babs could see her standing there, tears streaming down her face. The girls around her were trying to comfort her but Cass didn’t seem to notice them, instead staring straight ahead with unfocused eyes.

This was a monumental event for the whole family; it was their whole world shattering in two. Babs couldn’t help but be bitter at the unfairness of the whole situation. She sought out Dick in the crowd and saw him steel himself. She knew what he would do even before he opened his mouth. He didn’t even hesitate. 

“I volunteer as tribute.”

* * *

The train carriage was decorated with golds and silvers, Dick noticed. The colours of the season. It was garish and excessive, even for Dick, who’s district was one of the wealthier ones. The walls were accented with gold, the chandelier dripping silver, even the rim of the television had not escaped the craze. The huge flat screen television was embedded into the wall opposite the couch (gold thread woven into beige fabric, of course) and on either side of it were two tall snapdragon plants in glass vases. 

It was only when Babs slapped his hand that he realized he’d been picking at the calluses on his fingers. Dick made a conscious effort to stop, splaying his hands on his knees; but he had too much nervous energy, and seconds later his leg started bouncing up and down. 

He’d been watching the reaping playbacks and mentally cataloguing the tributes – the ones who were visibly metas, who were volunteers, or who made his instincts scream _threat_ and _dangerous_. He knew Bruce would give him a better run down of everyone. Still, it kept his mind busy.

It was Dick’s second time watching, so he already knew the order the districts played in, and he knew his district was coming next. He didn’t know what to do with his arms; he tried crossing them, but it felt too stiff. Barbara must have felt him shift, because she grabbed his hand and gave him a light but reassuring squeeze. 

Barbara got reaped first. Scattered gasps came from the crowd at her name being called; the name of the commissioner’s daughter was one the entire district recognized.

Then: “Jason Todd,'' came the voice from the television, sounding weird through the speakers. Babs pinched his hand and he realized how hard he was gripping her.

He closed his eyes to avoid the sight of his brother, only twelve years old, on the screen. But the image of Jason’s little hands curled into fists and his eyes brimming with tears he would never let fall was burned into his brain. His chest tightened at the thought of him, so small and too young to be faced with this life or death situation; and it was _wrong_ that Jason would ever think that Dick wouldn’t sacrifice himself to save him, that he’d just leave him to go to the Games. It was just _wrong_ how Jason was so ready to believe he’d be abandoned. 

In that moment, it had taken all of his strength to not scream his brother’s name and shove him out of harm’s way. Instead, he’d walked confidently over to where Jason was and pushed him back, softly but firmly. He’d given Jason a look that he hoped conveyed his message: “don’t say anything, just go back to your place.” Now, he opened his eyes just in time to see himself say the words. 

“I volunteer as tribute,” he’d called out once he’d turned back to face the stage. His voice was solid, relaxed almost, and he’d made sure to paste a smirk on his face.

Looking at himself on screen, even if Dick hated how smug he looked, he was glad his expression never betrayed the fact that he was breaking inside. 

He couldn’t look at this anymore. 

He got up and walked through the doors to the back of the train, where the last carriage had a window that spanned the entirety of the walls. Barbara’s steps followed him until they were both standing next to each other, looking at the scenery change as they travelled farther and farther away from District 3. He took a couple of steadying breaths. 

“I don’t know how I’d stand being here without you.” What he didn’t say: _if the both of us are here, at least one of us isn’t going back home_.

“You’d still have Bruce.” What she didn’t say: _Bruce being here makes it even harder_. 

Barbara always had so much to say about Bruce, but Dick was glad that she wasn’t saying any of it right now. 

“I don’t want him… I don’t want him to be away from home when he loses me.” To the untrained ear his voice sounded steady, but Dick could feel the quiver in it. He swallowed roughly, as if that would fix the feeling of his chest tightening and his stomach falling out of his butt.

Babs turned to him with a glare, “Don’t say that.” She chastised. “Anything could happen in the games, don’t count yourself out so soon.”

Dick looked down at his feet scuffing the perfect carpet of the train carriage. It felt like his fate had already been sealed. He couldn’t –wouldn’t… _shouldn’t–_ kill anyone. He knew that if there was ever a special circumstance where killing would be considered a necessary evil, it would be during the Hunger Games. Being raised by the one victor who’d come out of the Games with a no kill record, though, how could he hold himself to any other standard? 

Except Bruce was different; special. Even at thirteen years old, he was larger than life. 

Dick could never live up to that.

**1.**

Kory was leaning against the table in the middle of the room, tapping her foot. She was waiting for her family to be let into the interview room so they could say their congratulations and farewells.

The reaping had gone smoothly. She and Klarion Bleak, the male tribute chosen to volunteer, had known for a few months of their good fortune. When the morning of the reaping dawned, Kory already had her outfit planned. She’d picked it with her mother exactly three weeks in advance to make sure she looked as beautiful as possible. 

Her dress consisted of a tight purple bodice covered in a million tiny glinting jewels, with a neckline that dipped just a little bit too low to be considered proper, and a skirt in varying shades of purple tulle and satin which flowed out from her hips to reach her knees. She had a pair of purple ankle boots with a stiletto heel, which only emphasised her already impressive height. 

Her hair was elaborately styled so her mane of shining red curls was pinned and braided back from her face and tumbling down her back. She had made sure to leave loose her curly fringe. Her mother had placed a glimmering lace hairnet onto the crown of her head that was encrusted with jewels as well, and it shimmered as her hair moved. The jewel theme had continued down her body as she’d glued a trail of diamonds across her bare shoulders and down her arms and chest, glittering like freckles made of diamonds.

When it came time for the tributes to be chosen, she’d been ready to call out ‘I volunteer!’ as soon as the female tribute’s name was called out. Once she was on stage she’d made sure to smile winningly out at the crowd. She could see the sea of jealous faces, the girls who’d been eager to be chosen as the volunteer gritting their teeth and clenching their fists at the fact that _she’d_ been the lucky one.

The rest of the ceremony had been fairly easy to get through, as Kory knew exactly what to expect and how to behave. Klarion volunteered next and walked onstage with his usual air of superiority, fueling the same jealous reactions Kory had gotten. When they had shaken hands she couldn’t help thinking how small he must have looked next to her, but his attitude surely made up for it. 

Her parents swept into the room, interrupting her thoughts. They strode over to where she had jumped up from her perch on the desk. Her mother peppered kisses all over her face, hands mindful of ruining Kory’s hair. Her father stood a little behind her mother, a beaming smile on his face.

They had been ecstatic to hear that their little girl would be volunteering for the games. After all, it was an honour to be chosen to represent your district, and Kory’s family had never gotten the chance so their dreams fell on her shoulders.

There was an undercurrent of discomfort running through her veins at the whole situation. Nevertheless, she vowed to make her family proud.

Komand’r had chosen not to come. An obvious slight. She was jealous that she was not the one chosen to compete in the games, as the older and more skilled fighter of the two. And as she was 18, this was her last chance to attend the games.

Kory felt a lump in her throat; what if she lost the games and died without ever saying goodbye to her sister? No. She would win, and come home to fanfare and extravagant celebrations. She had to. She _would_ see her family again.

Ryand’r was the last to enter the room, his demeanor excitable as he raced over to where she was standing. He had to jump to be able to put his arms around her neck in a tight hug, and Kory quickly wrapped her arms around his waist in order to keep him aloft.

“You looked so cool up on stage, Kor!” He grinned up at her, and she couldn’t help but smile back. She leant down and placed a kiss on his temple. 

Luand’r came in between them, pushing Ryan back softly and fussing over Kory’s dress. “You have to be careful not to wrinkle anything! There’ll be cameras outside on the train platform.” 

Ryan’s smile dropped, and his behaviour became more subdued as a result of being reprimanded by their mother. He reached out to hold Kory’s hand instead.

Myand’r moved to stand in front of her, turning her chin so she could look him in the eyes. Her father was an intimidating man. He was tall and broad, with their family’s signature red curly hair covering his body, including a thick beard which had a few tiny braids weaved in. 

“You will have to win, for all of us. You’re the first Anala to go into the games; our family’s hopes rest on your shoulders.” His voice was gruff and commanding, but when he smiled his face changed and became more gentle. Kory could see the love shining in his eyes.

“We know you’ll make our family proud.”

.

Sitting across from her district partner gave Kory the opportunity to examine him properly. She’d met him before, in passing, at the training facility back in District 1.

Sprawled out on the seat, as if he owned the place, he was the very picture of the arrogant District 1 volunteer. His face held an amused look, like he knew something the rest of the world did not. His hair curled into two points on either side of his head, like devil’s horns; his signature look. The dark glossy sheen of his hair contrasted nicely against the pallor of his grey skin. 

The bored look on his face dissipated when Kory placed her glass down on the coffee table between them. His head snapped up to look at her.

“We made it,” It was both a statement and a declaration of excitement 

“There was never really any doubt that it would be us.” His sneer was more amused than cruel.

“There were other hopefuls.” She reminded him. “Abra Kadabra. Brion Markov.” For herself, Brion’s sister Tara was her biggest competitor.

His smile was vicious. “None of them stood a chance. It was only ever going to be me who would volunteer.” 

A cold shiver ran down her spine. She didn’t like what he was insinuating.

“The train is adequate.” He changed topics, surveying their surroundings with a sniff of his nose. “Of course, we deserve nothing but the best for the best of District 1.”

She let the change of topics go. “Our accommodations once we reach the Capitol will be even better. I can’t wait to see them.” Back in District 1 there were stories about the majesty of the Capitol. Kory had grown up dreaming of finally being able to see it one day.

“It’s an honor being able to visit the Capitol. I only wish I could share it with my family.” She swallowed thickly and her next words seemed to tumble out of her mouth. “I miss them.” Her voice came out barely above a whisper. Almost immediately, the atmosphere in the room changed. District 1 tributes weren’t meant to feel that way. They were meant to rejoice over their good fortune. 

Her eyes flicked up to meet Klarion’s, almost afraid at what his response would be.

Klarion was uncharacteristically solemn. Kory had never seen an emotion that wasn’t smug contentment on his face before.

“My family never cared.” He bit out. “I don’t need them anyway, all they would do is get in the way.”

“There must be someone. Someone that you miss, someone that is rooting for you to win.” She prodded, making sure to keep her voice soft.

“Being away from my familiar Teekl-” he cut himself off, pain flashing across his face briefly. She understood what he’d let slip. She’d heard about what happened to witches and their familiars when they were separated, the pain that they felt. She wondered if the dampening collar helped stabilize the feeling of pain, or if it would be a liability in the arena. She didn’t think the Capitol would do that.

Klarion stood up from the chair, and motioned towards the refreshments carriage. “Well, I don’t know about you but I’m just starving. Shall we get food?”

They found their mentors stood by the drinks table. Zatanna was saying something, trying to make Nabu laugh. The older man didn’t look impressed. 

Zatanna was magnetic, eyes drawn to her whenever she stepped into a room. Kory could vividly remember the moment Zatanna had won her games. It was a bittersweet moment, and one that marked a change in Zatanna’s personality. During the post Games interviews and ceremonies she never looked celebratory, and after she returned to the district, she seemed angry and troubled. It was out of the ordinary for a victor of the Hunger Games, especially one from District 1. 

She seemed isolated from the other victors; they didn’t want anything to do with her. She acted out, going to the swanky clubs and bars and staying until the early hours of the morning before stumbling out rowdy and drunk. She started hanging out with some… unsavory characters. People who were rumored to cause dissent and sow rebellion. Madame Xanadu, Alec Holland, Jason Blood. 

The following year when she arrived at the Capitol to start mentoring, something must have happened to her, as when she returned to District 1 she was more subdued and compliant. She still had a glint of resistance in her eyes, and she was still set apart from the other victors, but she was playing by the rules.

Nabu was more withdrawn, but his presence was no less imposing. He covered his face with a golden helmet, closed but for 2 eye holes, which showed off his blue eyes. 

When their mentors saw them enter the room, they invited them to sit at the food table. Laid out on it were finger sandwiches and other hors d'oeuvres. As soon as they sat down, Zatanna and Nabu pulled up a list of information about the other tributes. They focused on Districts 2 and 4, as those were the ones who would be the most relevant, and were usually the biggest competition.

“District 2 seems amenable to an alliance, if you can talk to them.” Zatanna said, “They look like they’d handle themselves well, which will be useful in a fight.” She swiped at the screen and it zoomed in on District 4. “The male tribute is a protege of one of the former victors; Arthur Curry. If there’s water in the arena, he will be a force to be reckoned with.”

“The girl from four wasn’t a volunteer this year but you should still keep an eye out for her. You never know, she might surprise you.” Nabu added.

Kory understood what they were saying underneath all the pleasantries: they’d already talked to the District 2 mentors, and Kory and Klarion would be expected to ally themselves with the tributes from District 2. 

Of course, District 1, 2 and 4 didn’t always end up as allies in the arena. There was one year where the District 1 tribute, Mercy Graves, had decided to go it alone and hid up until the end where it was down to 5 tributes. She picked them off, one by one, but not before the last one severed the artery in her right arm too badly for it to be patched up again. She’d been given a fancy prosthetic arm courtesy of the Capitol. More often than not though, they teamed up; lest they risk a knife in their backs.

.

Afterwards, Kory retired to her room. The boning from the corset was digging into the fleshy part of her hips. She didn’t dare adjust it though, she had already made sure that she looked flawless, and touching anything would ruin that. She took great care when perching on the bed to not crease her skirt. 

She looked down at the tablet she’d borrowed from Zatanna. She pulled up the same list that Zatanna and Nabu had shown them. She scrolled through the list of tributes and looked at the ones they hadn’t discussed; while some of them were underwhelming, some of them did look like good potential allies. She doubted they’d want to associate with her though, as some of the tributes from the higher districts were reluctant to interact with the tributes from District 1 and 2. Whether it was because of resentment over the privileges that were afforded to them because of their district, envy over their extra training, or some combination of the two, she didn’t know.

If it was envy over the training, well; they could take her place in the academy. It wasn’t like she’d had a choice, and she’d been beaten and abused in the District’s quest to produce strong victors. Their instructors even made them train with collars on to practice. They weren’t anything like the sophisticated collars made in the Capitol, they were clunky and were made to be worn on the outside of your skin, around your neck. Kory had received many bruises from those collars.

She pressed her hand to her neck. She could feel the bumps of the collar under the skin. It made her feel like she was back at the academy in District 1, under the cruel watchful eye of the Gordonian instructor. She wanted nothing more than to rip it out and destroy it with her starbolts.

There was a soft chime and then: “W _e are now entering the Capitol. Estimated arrival at the Remake Centre, 20 minutes_.”

Kory stood up from where she’d been perched on the bed. She smoothed down her skirt, checked her appearance in the mirror, and pressed the button that slid open the door. She saw Zatanna and Nabu standing next to Klarion by the windows. The shades were still drawn.

“Koriand’r,” they beckoned her over. “The blinds usually get lifted when we get 10 minutes from the Remake Center. When they do, we want you and Klarion to wave and smile at the crowds. Use that District 1 charm to work your magic and leave everyone wanting more.” 

The moment the blinds went up, and the crowd saw them, it was chaos. There was screaming and waving, the Capitolites clamoring for their first looks at the tributes; a few were even crying. Kory was giving them her winning smile, showing off her gleaming white perfectly straight teeth. Waving at the crowd, throwing them a few winks and kisses here and there. Klarion 

“See, they love you already. And they’ll love you even more when they see you tonight at the tributes parade.” Zatanna said, “Beatriz and Tora have been planning this look for weeks, and having someone you as their model is just about their greatest wish. You two will be the stars of the show.”

They were close now, Kory could see the building looming from the corner of her eye. Once they reached the Remake Center, all the tributes and their mentors would be led off of the trains one by one, to the elevators to make their descent to be poked and prodded, primped and polished until they were ready to be shown off to the citizens of the Capitol. 

She, for one, couldn’t wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for making it this far!
> 
> Kory's surname comes from Hindu or Sanskrit - depending on the source - and it means fire. I (sunreyesss) chose it because I thought it was fitting for Kory, and because we had to give her a surname.
> 
> Regarding the scene that happens on District 7; neither of us know greek, but we had the Amazons chant a war cry and we wanted to reference their Ancient Greek connection. Excuse us for any inaccuracies, since we're mostly going off what we've found online. From Wiki: Alala (Ancient Greek: Ἀλαλά (alalá); "battle-cry" or "war-cry"), was the personification of the war cry in Greek mythology. Her name derives from the onomatopoeic Greek word ἀλαλή (alalḗ),] hence the verb ἀλαλάζω (alalázō), "to raise the war-cry".
> 
> We will be releasing an extra fic after this one is concluded (but before the sequel) full of tidbits like this, and more of an in depth look at all the characters and ships included in this series, as well as what districts they come from, and some interesting facts, scenes that didn't make the cut, and some bloopers (because we had lots....)
> 
> Until next time, Reyes and Sofi!


	2. First Impressions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dick grapples with the complicated relationship he has with his father while trying to figure out who he can trust, who he has to look out for, and whether or not to do something about the mystery that he just stumbled upon.

Being fussed over was something that had always made Dick incredibly uncomfortable. Even at home, Alfred kept mostly to the house chores, always respectful to him and his siblings’ privacy. And Alfred was family.

This was the exact opposite: it was being scrutinized down to his every physical flaw, having them erased and corrected by a flock of people that felt foreign to him on so many levels; it was laying down placidly without a complaint because that was what he was supposed to do, while these people took a look at every inch of him. He tried not to fidget, and so he ended up clenching his fists more than once – at some point, someone had to physically make him unclench them because it was time to do his nails. He got his eyebrows plucked, some of his body hair waxed, and they did something to his face with some kind of laser device, presumably so he wouldn’t grow stubble. 

He was exposed and vulnerable, and he hated it. So he covered it with smiles and charm, he learned the prep team’s names – Kit, Lavenne, and Vibia – and he showed interest in the conversation. By the end of it, they were delighted with him, talking about how they were rooting for him in the Games, like they wouldn’t say that to anyone who stepped into their room. But Dick took their comments as they were – trademark Capitol willful ignorance, and fake cheeriness that they’d convinced themselves was real.

When they were finally done they left him with promises that his stylist – Silver, they said she was called – would do wonders with him. As soon as he was able, he grabbed a robe that had been hanging from a hook on the wall the whole time (that the prep team had never even considered letting him use), and felt some relief as he could finally cover himself up. 

He heard the click of heels on the floor outside of the door right before it opened. The first thing he saw of the woman walking into the room was her hair: a grey so bright it was almost white, flowing and framing her face, carefree in an entirely calculated way. _Silver_ , Dick thought idly, wondering in the back of his head what came first: the name or the hair. 

She had a sleek elegance to her that was not common in the Capitol, where everyone strived to be as over the top as possible, but it was elegance taken to the next level. It was obvious in the coat she was wearing, a white that almost hurt to look at, interrupted by pink faux fur lining the cuffs and collar. The coat was open on the front to reveal the full body piece she was wearing underneath, silver as bright as her hair, decorated only with some lace and an impressive – silver, again – necklace. She was really leaning into the silver theme. 

Dick hadn’t moved from the place where he was standing since her entrance, and he hadn’t said a word, either. She seemed unfazed by this, and walked straight to him to greet him with two kisses, grabbing both of his hands in the same motion.

“Richard! My name is Silver. It’s such a pleasure to be your stylist this year.” 

Dick composed himself. “Please, it’s Dick,” he said, all casual.

“Oh, Dick, sure, sure. Let’s see what we’re working with.” Still holding his hands she led him to the center of the room, so she had space to walk around him. She was clearly eyeing the robe he decided to put on, but thankfully didn’t comment on it or demand he take it off. Her gaze moved up and down his body, appreciatively in a way that was deeply uncomfortable to him. He tried not to move, when all he wanted to do was shift away from her. 

Maybe sensing his discomfort, or maybe just trying to show off, she started talking while still looking at his body. “I have known Brucie for years, you know. I’ve been District 3’s stylist for over a decade, and he’s almost always at the Capitol for the Games. It has given us time to… get acquainted, on occasion.” She finished with something that was almost a giggle.

“Well, I’m sure he’s mentioned me!” He hadn’t, but he still gave her a smile. It wasn’t like Bruce shared the specifics of his personal life often. “He has certainly mentioned you, that’s for sure. Such a promising boy. And tonight we get to show you off!”

He tried to match her enthusiasm. “Can’t wait to see what you have in store for me.” Maybe he did mean some of it; he was a performer at heart, and he _had_ been wondering what type of costume they’d put him in.

She winked at him. “Darling, you’ll look stunning, just you wait.”

They walked to a sitting room off to the side of the one they were in. This one had a low table in the middle, with two velvet armchairs facing each other, and a window taking up almost an entire wall to the side. This was the first real look he’d had at the Capitol since the train; it was noon and the sun reflected on every glass surface, making the city look almost like it was sparkling. 

When he turned around to go sit in the armchair across from Silver, he saw an avox setting a tray overfilled with food on the table. Dick felt the urge to say thanks, but the avox never once looked up, and Dick thought it might not be the best idea to draw attention like that. So he kept silent and went to his own seat. The food was way too much for only the two of them, but he tried not to overthink that fact as he grabbed a flower-shaped roll and took a bite.

Silver was sitting on the edge of the armchair, stiff like she didn’t want to disturb her outfit. “So, Dick!” He didn’t like the way she said his name, but couldn’t pinpoint why. Maybe it was just the accent and the way people in the Capitol spoke in general. “As I’m _sure_ you know, the costumes for tonight’s parade will reflect the spirit of each of your districts. For you, and your fellow tribute, Barbara, of course, that means technology, computers, electronics! And, well, between the both of us, as long as there’s a connection to your theme? It’s more about the _fashion_ statement.” She huffed and flicked her hair. “We wouldn’t want to be too literal and bore everyone.”

That was unexpected. “Aren’t they supposed to be literal? I’m pretty sure I’ve seen tributes from District 12 dressed like coal miners almost every year.” And the ones from District 7, dressed like trees, or District 8’s dressed in just a random assortment of fabrics. He had even seen tributes from District 4 dressed in fish costumes once.

“Well, maybe technically. But that’s just a stupid little rule, and sponsors won’t care about it if you look good. We want you to leave an impression.” Silver looked to the side, where there was an excessively ornate clock on the wall, which marked almost exactly two o’clock. “Someone should get here with your costume in only a few minutes, I won’t spoil anything further!”

She swiftly changed conversation topics back to Bruce and what Dick guessed was Capitol gossip. He was saved from having to participate too much since he was eating, but he made sure to show the proper reactions and act surprised when it was important. Some of the stuff she was saying was honestly fun to hear about; he rarely got to hear first hand accounts of Bruce’s personality around the Capitolites. 

Just as he was feeling full – the dessert had been a blueberry and lavender mini cheesecake that Dick hated to admit was amazing – two of the people from the prep team, Kit and Lavenne, opened the door. Lavenne was carefully carrying a black cloth bag, while Kit was holding a bulky case. They looked overly excited, as usual, grins huge and intimidating on their surgically altered faces, and went straight to the room where they’d previously cleaned Dick up, while Silver motioned him to follow them.

“This year we’re showing technology through lights, but we also have something special for you.” Silver had an excited glint in her blue eyes. “Once we knew that you were going to be this year’s tribute, we just knew we’d have to redesign the costume specifically for you. We couldn’t pass up the opportunity to showcase your personal accomplishments, alongside the ones of your district.”

Dick was intrigued about what she could be talking about – he had a few guesses, but wasn’t sure how much the Capitol knew about him. Before he could get a chance to ask, though, Silver had moved on, opening the bag to reveal a black suit. 

It was a thick stretchy material that zipped up at the back, and when he put it on, it hugged his body. It had a high neck, with the collar opening up slightly. 

Then the prep team opened up the case and pulled out something blue and gold, that he couldn’t quite make out. Tutting at him for leaning over to get a closer look, they straightened his shoulders and placed two metal shoulder pads on them, fixing them into place with tiny hooks on the inside of the pads. The pads themselves were a vibrant blue, cut into three sections, with a band of gold at the bottom. 

“We picked the gold because it worked well with the blue, despite it not having anything to do with technology. But it doesn’t _really_ matter, so long as the overall theme works!” Silver waved her hand dismissively, as if brushing away the concern.

Next they added the chest piece, shaped like a V that started from each shoulder and met in the middle of his chest. It was also a vibrant blue, this time lined with black. Silver then placed two short golden wings around his shoulders, letting them fall on his chest and securing them in place, where they fit snugly. 

The wings were made from supple leather, with various small rows of feathers, and one longer layer that went from just beneath his collarbone to the end of his ribs. 

“The lights are woven into each feather.” She explained, “When it’s all lit up each feather is going to glow, and all eyes will be drawn to your wings. You’ll look like you’re ready to fly.”

He couldn’t help but smile a little at her wording. If that was the reference they were going for with the theme… he was thankful actually, that it would feel less like it was all for show and more like he was honoring something that was important to him. 

A golden metal belt was secured around his waist, and then two blue metal bracers were placed around his forearms. Then, his feet were slipped into black combat boots. 

The final piece was a black holster which would hold two black escrima sticks that would light up in blue on the tips.

After every individual piece was in place, Silver excused herself to give Barbara the same treatment. Dick wondered how different her costume would be from his; usually the tributes from the same district matched, sometimes even exactly, but with Silver he couldn’t be sure. 

He was left alone with Kit and Lavenne again, but this time he felt a million times more relaxed. He was more in his element; he was getting ready for the show, and from now on he would control the image of himself he was putting out there. The costume, and the makeup they had just started applying, was a protective layer between his real self – full of doubt and fears – and the rest of the world. 

The makeup they were putting on him felt thick, and it was mostly focused around the eyes. They had given him a thin layer or foundation to even his skin out and applied something transparent and glossy on his lips, but that was it for the rest of his face. While Kit finished styling his hair, Lavenne started applying creamy eyeshadow all on his eyelids, and then under his lower lashline. He was surprised when she kept going after that. 

When they were done, both of them looked at him with glee in their eyes, and Kit clasped his hands together in excitement. Lavenne grabbed him by the shoulders and led him in front of a full body mirror on one of the walls. “So, what do you think?”

Dick saw himself for the first time after his entire makeover, and he looked like an entirely different person. He was almost… concealed. The eye makeup was in the shape of a domino mask, but it was different than a normal one. It had a small line going up and down the bridge of his nose, in the shape of a diamond. The outer corners of the domino also had lines going up and down parallel to his eye, but they were flatter there. It had the effect of framing his face in a way that was slightly more interesting than just a simple domino mask. It started blue on the edges, same as the blue on his suit, and then darkened until it was black around his eyes. The shape made it look almost like he had a different facial structure; he was sharper and colder. Dick felt like he could take on anyone looking like this.

Dick grinned. “I think it’s showtime.”

.

They met Babs in the hallway, in front of the elevator that would take them down to the stables where the parade would start. He was as taken aback when he saw her as he’d been when he first saw himself. 

Her suit was the same dark grey, almost black as his, and the lines were similar, with some accents in black, and a belt in a golden yellow. But there were some key differences.

She was wearing a cape, clasped to the suit on her collarbones and flowing down her back, ending just below her knees. It was black on the outside and the same golden color as her belt on the inside. Her boots were the same color as well, and went up to her knees. He could see something else going on with her suit, lines that looked different than the black accents and more like the way the lights on his own suit looked when they were turned off. 

She was wearing eye makeup, same as he was, but she looked even more striking in it. Hers started bright green around the eyes, darkening to a deep black, making a similar shape to his. The blue of her irises was more piercing than ever. 

“You’re staring, Boy Wonder.” She was standing very straight and looked tense, and her voice was strained even when she seemed to want to act casual.

He decided it wasn’t the moment to be sarcastic or witty, and instead went for honesty. “You look really good, Babs.”

The corners of her mouth turned up, and some of the tension eased off her shoulders. “Well, you don’t look so bad yourself. But don’t let that get to your head.”

There was a ding before the elevator doors opened. The three of them crowded inside, but Silver gave Dick and Barbara their space so they wouldn’t disturb their outfits. There were mirrors on all their sides, and Dick couldn’t stop stealing glances at the reflection of the two of them side by side all the way down.

The so-called stables didn’t match Dick’s mental image of that concept, as they were incredibly modern, and could only be recognized as that by the horses standing next to the chariots and the piles of hay to the sides. It was a luminous space, but it was all artificial light. The only door to the outside was the gates that would open when it was time for the ceremony to start. 

They passed by the other tributes being loaded onto their own chariots, which were made of glass, or some other thick but shiny see-through material. Dick’s eyes kept flicking over everyone in their special getups. Some of them were more elaborated or unique than others. The tributes from District 10 – if he remembered their faces correctly – were in basic cowboy style clothes, but every piece was blue to match their natural icy appearance. It ended up looking too monochromatic.

In contrast, nearby, the tributes from District 8 looked like some thought had actually been put into their outfits. The girl was in a vintage style red dress that was cinched at the bodice and flowed out from her waist down to the floor. It had a golden trim around the neckline and the hem at the bottom of the dress. She had a white cape pinned to each shoulder by a golden pendant of a lion. It had a shorter layer on top of the longer one, and the same golden trim from the dress. The boy had dark pink robes that engulfed his frame and washed him out. It had long bell shaped sleeves and the whole outfit had a silver trim around the edges. He also had a cape similar to his district partners, except with a silver trim.

Silver led them to their own set up, where there was someone tying the four horses to the chariot, who finished and left as soon as they arrived. The horses wouldn’t need to be guided by them, they were so well trained. Silver helped them get up on the chariot, and told them exactly where and how to stand. 

“Don’t be too close or too far away. Look open to the public, they need to feel like they can know you. Keep your posture. Smile. Wave.” She looked back and forth from Dick to Barbara. “You can look at each other from time to time, that is always cute.” 

Then, Silver hopped on the chariot as well, to put on the finishing touches with barely enough space to move around comfortably. She fixed his collar, and straightened the escrima sticks strapped on his back. She arranged Babs’ cape behind her. And then, right before jumping down, she pressed the two hidden buttons on their belts.

Dick couldn’t really see how he looked, but he could imagine. The wings on his shoulders and chest now had lines of blue lights intertwined with the fabric feathers, and lining their edges, contrasting nicely with the gold. He thought he could see the escrima sticks light up from the corner of his eye. 

He turned his head to look at Babs, who was staring at him too. The lights on her own costume seemed to be the same technology as his, but hers were green instead, and had a different design. They were arranged in the shape of connected straight lines and small circles that were reminiscent of the inside of a computer microchip, spreading out from her chest where the cape met the suit, and fading down her arms and her torso. They lit up her face from below and framed her in shadows in a way that complemented the dark eye makeup. He wondered if his face looked shadowed and lit up like that, too. 

“Glorious, darlings! Now face front, chins up, and good luck.” Silver blew a kiss at each of them before they obeyed, and she walked away.

“She’s… something, alright.” Babs commented. 

“Did she catch you up on all the hot Capitol gossip, too?” 

She nodded and faked a shudder. “I know more than I ever wanted to know about your dad’s escapades at the Capitol.”

“ _Alleged_ escapades. But tell me about it.” Dick huffed and looked down, trying to stop himself from fidgeting. He needed the doors to open and the show to start now. 

He turned back to Babs again, and noticed she had become tense again. She was nervous.

He nudged her, and smiled reassuringly when she was looking at him. “You don’t need to do anything more than smile and wave, like she said, really. The costume will do all the work for you. This is the easy part.” 

She squeezed his arm, but quickly let go. “Thank you.”

The opening music suddenly started and that shut both of them down. They faced front again, and got ready. 

Dick could hear the roar from the spectators drowning the opening music as soon as the stable doors slid open and the tributes from District 1 started heading out. Side by side in the chariot there was a clear contrast between the two. The girl’s golden orange skin and tall stature, hair like fire almost floating with the movement of the chariot as if it was defying gravity, versus the shorter boy’s incredibly pale skin, close to a bluish white, and jet black hair that had been styled to resemble horns pointing up from the sides of his head. 

From the back, all that Dick could see of their outfits was purple and gold. The girl was wearing a dress, tight on her body until it reached her knees, where it spread out all around her, the huge tail flowing on the back of the chariot. It was purple fabric encrusted with jewels in a delicate pattern, becoming almost entirely gold at the bottom. The boy was wearing a suit in a similar fashion, with a jacket that was poofy on his shoulders the way her dress was poofy at the bottom. His trousers were perfectly tailored, and there were a couple flaps of fabric on one side of them like less than half a skirt, flowing from under his shirt, and with heavier jewels than the rest of the suit. As soon as they caught the lights from outside, they were shining almost brighter than Dick and Babs were. They would probably be the people’s favorite, to no one’s surprise.

The tributes from District 2 started heading out, then. They weren’t nearly as imposing or beautiful as the first ones; they were more on the corny side, instead. Their costumes were simple Roman style armour, helmets included, the metal bronze and the fabric beige. They were almost bland, but the focus was on their sheer size accentuated by the armor, which made them look powerful nevertheless. And they obviously knew that, shaking their fists and roaring as soon as they were in view of the cameras.

The audience shouted louder every time each of their chariots passed the door, so it might have been Dick’s imagination that they screamed even louder than before when District 3 emerged onto the city. People started chanting for them; the sound of the crowd going “District 3! District 3!” made Dick’s chest tighten.

When he caught a glimpse of themselves on the cameras, he realized it was probably Babs who they were going crazy about. He looked like he’d never before, intimidating, mysterious; but she looked like she was on a whole different level than everyone else. Untouchable. He had told her it would be the costume doing the work for her – and he wasn’t wrong, as the cape fluttered behind her and the lights made her stand out in the night. But really, it was her hair that made it impossible to take your eyes off of her. It was free, almost unstyled, but the copper caught the green lights from the costume in a mesmerizing way. 

Dick grinned wide and, he hoped, charming. He waved enthusiastically at the crowd, trying to let them feel he was here for _them_. It was what audiences loved. Babs was stiffer next to him but at least she was smiling, and it didn’t look constrained. 

There was a wave of applause and chants every time one of the chariots emerged, and it was as obvious when they loved a pair as it was when they were underwhelmed. Right behind them, the tributes from District 4 had been well received, too. They were dressed in traditional Atlantean fashion, the boy in red and the girl in yellow but both with light blue accents, and the texture of the fabric of their skin tight suits resembled scales. Their outfits were sleeveless; their arms glowed with light up tattoos, it looked like. And they were both holding golden tridents, the same color as the headpieces they were wearing, in the shape of fins on either side of their heads. 

It was always a bit downhill from there, as the districts progressed in number and the poorer and less favored made their appearances. Some of them were good looking outfits, but just not outstanding enough. The pair from District 5 were wearing what like metal exoskeletons, and they looked uncomfortable. The two from District 6 had skin tight grey full body suits with lightning shaped lines going down their outfits, the boy’s in yellow and the girl’s in purple – a reference to speed, Dick thought, as they were the district responsible for transportation. On their heads, they wore golden headbands with little metal lightning streaks jutting out of the side, looking reminiscent of wings shaped like lightning. When Dick saw them on the screens, he realized the suits might be more intricate than that, the fabric texturized with small lightning bolt symbols, but it was sadly lost in the distance. 

There weren’t any special reactions until District 11 came out, and they looked – ethereal. Their costumes weren’t anything too convoluted; it was just a simple light and flowy fabric, cinched at their waists with belts that resembled flowers and stems intertwined. They might actually have been real, fresh flowers. But other than that, they were exact opposites. The girl – and she was young, very young – was dressed in a light grey, and had a thin headband styled to look like grain resting on the crown of her head, like a halo. The boy, on the other hand, was all black, and at least a head taller than the girl. His grain headband was in the shape of horns.

The last to appear, District 12 was corny. It seemed this year they didn’t have the creativity to go any further than just the coal miner outfit. They had the overalls, and the boy was shirtless underneath, while the girl had a tight crop top. Their arms were bare – and muscular, at that – and covered in black smudges, like they’d been painted with coal. There was something that stepped away from the theme, however: the girl had two arrows stuck in her blonde ponytail, making a cross shape, and the boy had an arrow tucked behind his ear. It didn’t really make sense until Dick remembered they were related to some of the previous victors from 12, and this was a reference to their weapons of choice – Paula Nguyen and Oliver Queen.

They were approaching the City Circle, where the chariots would stop for a short welcome from President Luthor. He was still sitting in his place on the balcony, all high and mighty in what could only be described as a throne. He was wearing a sleek black and grey suit, the only color in his outfit a ring with a green stone catching the light, his hands laced together on his lap and his posture stiff. 

Right after the District 12 chariot stopped, he stood up and walked to the front of the balcony, looking down at them, as if to remind them how beneath him they were. His words were short and to the point, no warmth in them, but he still tried for charisma to get the crowd excited. There was something in the way he spoke that made Dick understand why so many people were right at his feet; how someone else might find it easy to find themselves controlled by him. 

Not Dick Grayson, though. He made sure to hold his gaze steady on him before the chariots started pulling out of the City Circle. And when he looked back, he grinned, but it wasn’t the gracious smile that he’d directed at the crowd; this was more like a baring of teeth. 

He would probably get scolded by Bruce for unnecessarily provoking the president. Whatever. The smug satisfaction he felt when the president looked away from him (trying to act like he wasn’t worth his trouble, but his eyes had stayed on Dick a bit longer than on the others, he was sure); that made it worth it.

When they started moving again, for one final loop as the national anthem played, he put on his innocent image back, smiling, waving and throwing in a few curtsies for good measure. The Capitolites ate it up.

At last, they crossed the door to the Training Center, their chariot directed to one side. The prep team, along with Serling, were already waiting for them and helped them descend. Dick’s eyes searched for Bruce; he found him on the other side of the room, far from the District 1, 2 and 3 chariots, accompanied by Diana Prince and Clark Kent. He was smiling, one hand clasping Clark’s shoulder and gesturing wildly with the other. It was mostly for show, but there was still something genuine that was always there when he was with Clark or Diana.

Their eyes met and Bruce beckoned him over. Dick looked back at Babs, who was talking to Serling, before going to join them.

The trio were attracting looks before Dick went up to them. Ever since each of their games, they had reluctantly become figures in the Capitol media: the three were the youngest victors ever, all winning their Games at thirteen, but they also stood out for their own reasons. Diana had been the first real victor, beating impossible odds; thought technically she won the 6th Hunger Games, it was now well known that, up until her, the first games had been arranged so the Capitol handpicked the winner. Clark, meanwhile, was the only tribute ever to not get hurt at all during the games, even with the dampening collar suppressing his invulnerability. Bruce was probably the most controversial – he was supposed to be the only tribute to win without directly killing anyone, though there were people who might disagree with the definition.

To anyone else, walking up to the three of them might be intimidating, but Dick had known them since forever. Travel between districts was supposed to be banned, but rules had a tendency to bend themselves for victors; and even if they didn’t, they all had their ways of working around them. The both of them had been official and unofficial visitors at District 3, and back when Dick was younger and Bruce less uptight he’d been allowed to play with them after meetings. 

Here, they had to act both like professionals and strangers, so they only greeted him with smiles. He had arrived in the middle of a conversation and he stood quietly while they finished, making space for himself next to Bruce in their small circle. Bruce’s hand came up to rest on his shoulder almost immediately.

They were speaking in hushed tones.

“This isn’t news. We’ve known for a while Ivy can’t be trusted.” Bruce was saying. The relaxed expression on his face was at odds with the serious tone of the conversation.

Diana shook her head. “There’s something different this year. I’ve worked with her in the past, and she has always put the wellbeing of our tributes first and foremost. Now, however, she seems to be focused on me,” a pause, “and I think she’s reporting to someone.” She looked meaningfully at Clark, emphasizing the last word. 

Clark’s eyebrows knitted. “What makes you say that?”

“I have no concrete proof,” Diana said with a sigh, “nor can I give you anything more than that. It’s a gut feeling.”

“Do you think…”

Bruce cut Clark off. “Enough. We’ll continue this later.” He turned to face Dick fully; something lit up in his face when he saw him in the full costume, up close for the first time. Dick wondered what he looked like in his eyes. 

In a moment of self-awareness he realised he still had the lights of his costume on; they weren’t as bright here as they’d been outside, under the night sky, but he quickly turned them off anyways.

“Dick. You look…” Bruce seemed to be at an unusual loss for words, and Dick gave him an understanding smile, which Bruce returned for once. He had the same expression he always got when he realized one of his kids was growing up. 

Diana broke the short silence. “Richard, you were outstanding at the parade. Your stylist clearly did great work, but you’re the one who made it beautiful.”

Dick couldn’t stop the blush that crept up his cheeks. He wasn’t expecting Diana’s words; she’d always been nice to him, but the sincerity her voice carried made it all the more meaningful. “Thanks, Diana.” 

“Diana’s right.” Clark added with a small smile. “I don’t know how much you could see, but the audience was fascinated. You and Barbara will definitely be amongst the Capitol favorites.” 

Dick wasn’t sure what to say to that. “I’m sure they liked Districts 7 and 9, too?” It ended up sounding more like a question than he intended. 

Clark scoffed. “We haven’t had a good stylist in _years_. They even sent Conner out shirtless today. Not that I know much about fashion, though.”

Diana nudged him. “You definitely don’t.” Dick saw Bruce suppress a smile out of the corner of his eye. “But there is still the interviews; they can change a lot about the way the public _and_ sponsors view the tributes.”

Clark seemed like he was about to interject but thought better of it, and they fell into a short, not unpleasant silence. 

Bruce cleared his throat. “About what happened at the end there,” he raised an eyebrow, “I hope you didn’t catch the President’s attention.”

Dick did his best to innocently look up at him. “Why, Bruce, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Bruce was unamused, and looked like he was about to say something when the District 7 chariot pulled up right beside them. The two tributes stepped down, the girl gracefully, the boy more gangly and nervous. Diana smiled and nodded at the girl, who approached them.

She had high heel boots made of black leather, and leggings that had the texture of tree bark, but were in grey colours. The corset she had on top was painted silver to give it the impression of being a metal chest plate. Underneath the corset she had a textured shirt that looked like tree bark and clung to her like a second skin. It reached up under her chin and down to her wrists. She was somehow in between “tree costume” and “warrior”, and made it work.

“Donna, you’ve met Clark and Bruce. This is Richard Grayson. Richard, this is Donna Troy.”

Dick automatically stuck out his hand and said, “Pleasure. Call me Dick.”

Donna took it wearily. She had a firm grip, but didn’t try to turn the gesture into a show of strength like he would’ve expected from some of the other tributes. 

“Your outfit is really pretty.” Dick tried to fill the silence. He’d come to notice there was always an uneasy tension when tributes shared the same space. “But that corset can’t be comfortable, can it?” He said with a sideways smile that he hoped she interpreted like solidarity.

Donna visibly relaxed and smiled back. “It’s killing me. I can barely breathe in it, let alone move.” She proved her point by trying to bend forward and failing. “I hope I didn’t look too stiff out there.”

Dick shook his head. “From what I could hear, they loved you. How many roses did you get?” He knew he’d seen her catch at least one on one of the screens.

“A few.” She said with a proud smile. 

“That’s your answer.”

Dick caught Bruce and Diana looking between both of them and then at each other, and had to resist the urge to look down. Then he noticed the screaming from the Capitolites outside had died down – the doors had been closed –, which meant all the chariots were already inside. Yet Clark hadn’t called any of his tributes over. 

He did his best to look for them inconspicuously. They weren’t far away; the girl was talking with the other District 10 mentor, comfortable around her by the way she was standing casually. The boy was a few steps to the side, arms crossed and expression closed off. He had a remarkable resemblance to Clark.

“Conner’s not very sociable.” Clark said leaning in towards Dick and Donna, who had followed Dick’s gaze and was looking at Conner too. There was worry in Clark’s voice that he failed at concealing.

“He’s your brother, right?” That was how Bruce described it, but it was always said in a doubtful tone. In all his visits, Clark didn’t talk about Conner much, at least never to Dick, despite them being about the same age. 

As Dick knew he would, Clark hesitated. “I guess that’s the way to put it. Our relationship is… complicated.”

Dick was considering how to ask for clarification when Donna surprised him by speaking up. “Family relations don’t always fit squarely into boxes. Diana is my mother – adoptive or not, doesn’t make a difference.” She smiled at Dick, subtly revealing that she knew about him more than she let on, but still he couldn’t not smile back. “She is my sister, too, as all Amazons are. What matters isn’t the word you call it, but the love you have for each other, and the certainty that you will always want what’s best for them. As long as you both know this, you will be fine.” 

Clark was staring at Donna as if unsure how to react to her words, his eyes shining with an emotion Dick couldn’t put his finger on. For the rest of the conversation, Dick couldn’t help looking at Donna with wonder in his eyes, too. 

They were among the last to leave the stables, though a lot of mentors had been milling around, talking to each other. Bruce went up with Dick only long enough to show him the way to their floor – one floor per district – before disappearing back into the elevator, off to do something urgent, by the looks of it. 

Dick went to scrub off as much of the makeup as he could, the reflection staring back at him slowly looking more like himself again. The first step was over. His dolled up face, as well as those of the other twenty-three tributes, was in every screen in Panem. Though there were still four days before they officially started, the Games had already begun.

.

Dick was barely able to sleep through the night. He kept shifting and turning, restless, and gave up trying to rest when his room started to light up from the sunshine coming through the windows. So he got up, in this weird in-between state that meant he felt both tired from lack of sleep and wired up from having too much energy. 

He paused for a second right at his door, and heard no sounds at all coming from outside. Everyone was probably still asleep, which meant he could take his time to compose himself in the bathroom. He tried not to drag his feet as he walked, thinking about how Alfred would scold him if he saw him walk that way. 

He found himself staring at his reflection in the bathroom mirror for longer than he intended to. There were remnants of last night’s makeup that he hadn’t been able to scrub off, and it made the bags under his eyes look worse than they actually were. He looked tired. He’d have to find a way to get more sleep the following nights, because he couldn’t afford to be exhausted all the way through training. 

Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, he snapped his gaze away and stepped into the shower. The control panel was way more complicated than what he was used to, but it really was no problem to figure out. Once he got the hang of what a few of the buttons were for, it was easy to set the shower up so he’d get high pressure and hot water. After he was done, he finished it off with a second of cold water to fully wake himself up.

Back in his room there was an outfit laid out for him on top of his bed. It was a white tank top, with blue on the straps that extended down around the border of the sleeve hole, black work out trousers and black training shoes. He did a couple stretching exercises to test his mobility in the clothes, and they weren’t too restraining, thankfully. When he finally walked out of his room, he felt a bit less dead than he had when he got out of bed, at least

At the dining room, he found Serling alone, halfway through her breakfast and going over something on her tablet – he wasn’t close enough to see what it was about. He greeted her and went to fill his plate without paying much attention. He chose the chair that was closest to the window; the sun was still rising, and the Capitol streets were uncharacteristically quiet this early in the morning.

This city had its own, twisted beauty. It was unlike anything he’d ever seen before, and there was just so much to see here. He kept thinking about how he’d describe everything to his siblings, all the colors, the way people dressed and how eccentric everyone was. He imagined showing them his impression of the Capitol accent, picturing their laughter. 

While he was staring through the windows, he felt someone watching him. He turned to find an avox standing near the buffet table to Dick’s side, presumably come to refill the plates. He was young, couldn’t be much older than Dick, with curly blonde hair and clear blue eyes. He had the kindest face Dick had ever seen, but it twisted into fear when Dick looked at him – probably at the possibility of being reprimanded. 

Dick smiled at him and he relaxed, returning his smile – he had a kind smile, too – and scurrying back to where he’d come from. Dick wondered what someone as gentle looking as him could’ve done to end up in such a position, but any wondering was in vain; whatever the reason, there was no one to blame but the Capitol.

Barbara appeared after the sun had fully risen, giving him a smile, but her eyes were squinting behind her glasses – too early for her usual contacts – and she still looked half asleep. She sat down beside him with her plate, and the three of them continued eating in silence. Bruce didn’t take long to appear after that, sitting at the head of the table with a modest breakfast. 

It wasn’t long before he broke the silence.

“I ran into Clark and Diana again, last night in the halls. We had an interesting conversation.” 

The comment made Dick’s head perk up and Barbara shift beside him. It wasn’t like Bruce to make small talk, so there must have been something he was trying to tell them.

“Yeah?” Dick prompted, more to show that he was following him.

Bruce nodded. “Diana mentioned how curious it is that her daughter was reaped, and Clark’s brother and cousin were too.” He didn’t mention Jason, but it was implied. “The same can be said for some of the rest.”

Dick knew who Bruce meant when he talked about “the rest”; and, even if they never explicitly talked about it, he was pretty sure Bruce had told Barbara as well during her internship. There was a group amongst the victors who regularly met up in secret; mostly during the Games, when they were in the Capitol as mentors, but they communicated for the rest of the year as well. Bruce tended to refer to them as “the League”, though he’d probably avoid using that name at the Capitol. 

Dick knew the name of every person in that group – Bruce let him know, so he knew who to trust – but still he didn’t know exactly what they talked about. He knew it had something to do with President Luthor, and he also knew there was more to the President than he wanted them to believe. That there was even more power working behind the scenes, other people pulling the strings.

They also had codenames, which they used when they weren’t sure if their communications were safe, so they didn’t reveal who was a member. When Bruce told him they referred to him as “Batman” he couldn’t stop laughing for thirty minutes straight.

“It will make for an interesting show,” Serling seemed to be trying to follow the conversation, looking frustrated as if she’d noticed she didn’t have all the information right now. 

“Indeed.” Bruce glanced at her for a second, and then turned his attention completely back to Dick and Barbara. “Diana said she’ll talk to the others, and we’ll all need to catch up. I might be absent some time these next couple of days. But when the Games start, I will dedicate my time to the both of you.”

Dick glanced at Babs, a bit worried about Bruce’s expression, more solemn than usual. Barbara wasn’t looking at Dick; her expression was carefully blank but the way her astute eyes were looking at Bruce told Dick that she was trying to decipher both what Bruce was telling them, and what he wasn’t.

“I just wanted to let the both of you know that there’s stuff we’re dealing with. Stuff that _you_ don’t have to worry about right now. So let’s talk strategy.” And with that he declared that conversation topic finished, in that abrupt way he always had that left no room for debate. He turned to Dr. Roquette, who had decided to tune out after the first seconds of confusion. She leaned forward, now, getting serious.

“First, and most important of all before you even take the elevator down to the training gym, you need to figure out what you want the other tributes to see when they look at you. Do you want them to fear you? Feel intimidated? Do you want to come off as innocent, harmless?”

“Dick will lay low. We need them to underestimate you.” Bruce said as he turned to look at him. “That’s the most logical option: you are smaller than the rest, and they don’t have any reason to think you would be good in hand to hand combat. Careers and bigger tributes will always assume that the smaller ones are not a threat unless they have a reason to believe otherwise. You will use that to your advantage.”

Dick didn’t argue. Bruce’s tone was his usual commanding voice, and if he was bothered by the way he talked for himself, he couldn’t really complain, since he agreed with what he was saying. It would’ve been nice to be consulted, but well. _He’s my mentor, he knows better,_ he tried telling himself. 

Serling nodded, and looked at Babs. “What about Barbara?”

Barbara spoke up then. “I’d prefer flying under the radar, I think. Keep them guessing.”

“Good.” Bruce said, satisfied with her answer. “If that’s the case, we think it would be best if you keep to yourselves during training. We can figure out the other tributes from afar, in case the time comes where your last resort is to form an alliance.” 

“Alliances in circumstances like this are tricky,” Serling added, “and unless it’s your only option, it’s better to avoid them if you’re not willing to stab someone in the back when they’re at their most vulnerable.”

Dick did his best not to look away at her words. He’d been avoiding the reality of what he’d be facing in the Games, but he couldn’t keep doing it forever.

Bruce and Serling shared a look, having a silent conversation. Dick could easily count the people Bruce had that kind of familiarity with, and there weren’t many outside of the family. He guessed that years of mentoring together meant that Serling was among those people.

“You can get going to the gym now. It’s too early but it’s probably open already, so familiarize yourselves with the space.” 

Dick stood up and picked up his plate automatically, when he realized he wouldn’t know where to take it. The avox from before was there in a second, taking the plate from his hands. He mouthed thanks at him and smiled. The avox looked down, but not before Dick could notice him smiling back. 

He walked to the elevator alongside Babs, and as soon as the elevator doors closed between them and their mentors, Babs turned to him. He tried not to shy away from her. She could be intimidating even when she didn’t mean to. 

“You’re just gonna let him tell you what to do like that?”

“He’s my mentor, Babs. That’s what he’s supposed to be doing.” His tone was conciliatory, even if Bruce wasn’t there.

She frowned. “I know that, but you should at least get a say in these things. He’s not even considering what you might want.” 

“He’s just using his experience. I don’t know how these things work. We don’t know how the games work.”

He tried not to think of the look she was giving him as _pitying_. “Don’t give yourself so little credit.”

Right after her words, the elevator doors slid open, marking the end of the conversation. Dick turned her words around in his head as they stepped out into the training gym. He agreed with her, to some extent, but he’d always defended Bruce to other people. No one really understood him, at least not like he did.

Barbara was still looking at him with that stubborn expression she got, but said nothing else. He put on a smile. “Come on, let’s look around.”

Training started at 10 o’clock, and they’d gotten there about an hour early, so there were no other tributes yet. The only other people were staff, either avoxes or employees, who were finishing setting up everything. They didn’t pay them much attention as they walked around. 

Besides the elevator doors, there was another small door on the opposite side marked “staff only”, which Dick guessed led to stairs out of the building. There were double doors marked “cafeteria” – they would be having lunch down here. There was also the Gamemakers’ lounge, empty for now, separated from the gym and looking down at them. Besides that, there were no other exits. The rest of the doors led to stations that had their separate rooms; there was a big one which took an entire corner of the gym, but Dick couldn’t see what was inside from where he was standing.

One of the stations caught Dick’s attention: he could see platforms, a balance beam, and gymnastic rings. He itched to get on that one, but he remembered Bruce’s words, and tried to get his mind off of it. He suggested that he and Babs focused on survival and wilderness skills for today, since they didn’t really get a chance to learn about that in their district. She gave him a weird look before agreeing – only then he considered whether she’d wanted to stay a team now that they were here. He had assumed they would, but now her reaction casted doubt on that certainty; the idea of being completely on his own… 

They kept walking around sort of aimlessly, until Dick noticed a cart with supplies that hadn’t been taken to their own stations yet. The staff still wasn’t looking at them; he surreptitiously grabbed two escrima sticks from it. 

“Hey,” he called to Babs. When she turned around, he leapt forward.

She laughed and easily blocked his attack; he tried again, and she dodged, walking in a circle around him to grab two sticks herself. They kept going, trying to keep their laughter quiet so they wouldn’t call attention to themselves. Dick hadn’t felt this light since Jason’s name had been called at the reaping. 

When they elevator dinged, signaling tributes arriving, Dick used the distraction to his advantage to playfully tap Babs on the top of her head.

He grinned at her. “I win.” 

She rolled her eyes. “Come on, let’s get these back to their place.”

The tributes that had arrived were Careers; District 4, specifically. The pair seemed close, like they were already friends, and much like Dick and Babs they started walking around talking quietly to each other. They didn’t move following a pattern or favor any stations, so watching them told Dick nothing about their abilities or strategy. 

Babs and Dick had already seen everything from up close, so they retreated to a corner to watch as the others trickled in. Next were the tributes from District 1, who walked into the room like they were right at home. The girl was deceptively pretty, but her physique marked her as competition. _Koriand’r Anala_ , his memory supplied. Bruce had pointed her out as one of the biggest threats, and Dick didn’t doubt that, despite the friendly expression on her face and the way her eyes crinkled when she smiled pleasantly. 

District 2 followed shortly after. Dick was surprised when the next to arrive were District 12. They looked comfortable in the workout clothes; he noticed how their eyes kept searching for the archery stations. With Bruce’s words about the League fresh in his mind, he remembered that Dinah Lance and Oliver Queen, the mentors for District 12 this year, were both part of the resistance group. He wondered how much these tributes knew about that.

When it neared 10 o’clock, everyone else started arriving one after the other. They naturally gathered around in a circle, small groups already forming. Most stayed with their district partner, but it was clear how the Careers instantly flocked to each other. The only pair that didn’t stand together were the two from District 11 – weird since they were siblings, if Dick’s memory served him right. But the boy seemed more interested in what the Careers were doing than being close to his sister.

Dick had thought he knew the basics about every tribute; Bruce and Serling had gone over the list on the train ride, telling him and Babs about everyone’s stats. Things like height, weight, age. Bruce even interjected with additional information, that Dick wasn’t sure was exactly public or official, but which let him know about some important skills, or even weaknesses. However, seeing everyone assembled in plain workout clothes and behind closed doors – standing next to the big, tall and strong… it made him feel small. He stood up straighter, as if it made any difference. 

The head trainer arrived at 10 o’clock sharp and, without preamble, walked right to the center of the circle of tributes. He looked to be about six foot, and the long hair and beard wasn’t what Dick would’ve expected the head trainer to look like. He carried himself like someone in complete control of his body. He introduced himself as Richard Dragon, and spoke firmly while looking around at all of them. 

“There’s one expert at every station, and each station is focused on a specific skill, be it survival or fighting skills. In the fighting stations, tributes will not, under any circumstances, engage in combat with each other.” He looked pointedly at the Careers huddled together. “There’s assistants for that. In the survival stations, on the other hand, you can cooperate with each other. I will be looking over all of you these three days, but you’re free to use the stations in any way you like. My advice is listen to whatever your mentors have already told you, and make use of as many types of stations as you can without stretching yourselves so thin that you learn nothing.”

He started listing the stations. It was a long list, and as he listened to it, Dick mentally catalogued which ones he’d be using at all. On the first day, his goal was to at least get a good grip on half of the survival skills that were taught. There were some stations that he wasn’t sure whether Bruce would approve – the physical skills he wasn’t familiar with. He’d have to ask him later. Or not. 

They started with edible insects and plants. The instructor was a lady that spoke in a monotone, telling them about how to differentiate between poisonous and edible. She wasn’t exactly… didactic, but he tried to make the best of it. They couldn’t trust the Capitol not to use mutated vegetation for the games, so more than learning the looks of these specific plants, he’d have to look for patterns and similarities. That, at least, he was good at.

When they’d spent some time and they both felt confident with the basics, they moved on to fire starting. The city that was their home in District 3 didn’t provide many opportunities to learn something like this, and Dick felt clumsy at first. He tried not to show his frustration at the failed attempts but Babs definitely noticed, though she was kind enough not to say anything about it. It’s not like she was excelling, either.

None of the others seemed very interested in the stations they were picking, so they were mostly alone. The exception was the little girl Dick had noticed standing apart from her district partner, who joined them for fire starting. She was quiet, but there was a light in her eyes that didn’t fade despite the circumstances; looking at her for too long made something in Dick’s chest ache. She couldn’t be much older than Jason. He tried to remember her name – Greta –, congratulating and encouraging her while they worked. It was the least he could do. 

Walking from one station to the next, he observed everyone else, trying to take note of anything that might be of use later. The District 2’s were clearly show offs, currently throwing spears and laughing at the one other tribute who was brave enough to share a station with them; they looked like the kind who could be riled up enough to make a mistake. The other Careers seemed harder to crack, however. They were staying together, but there was clearly a divide between them; District 1 and 2 were keeping District 4 at arm’s length, and the girl from the latter seemed to be uncomfortable around them. 

They passed by the girl from District 5 wrestling with an instructor; she didn’t seem to have any experience with it, obvious by the way she doubted herself before moving, but she was picking it up quickly. A fast learner. There was someone watching her: the redhead boy from District 6, who clapped and whooped when she did a move right. 

Next for them was knot tying, which included traps – very useful even from a distance, especially for bigger tributes with whom they should avoid engaging in hand to hand combat. They were both considerably better at this one than fire starting, making Dick feel a little less hopeless. The practice dummy hung from its foot, upside down; Dick’s mind started going over ways to modify the trap to make it slightly more lethal, but he quickly shoved those thoughts away.

After the lunch break they kept going through different stations, and Dick tried to keep focused but the mindless work meant his attention kept getting away from him. He was keenly aware of everyone else. The District 12’s excelled at archery, as he would’ve predicted, but they didn’t slack in the other stations, marking them as tributes to keep an eye on. The District 9’s were both surprisingly strong, possibly metahuman strong, even considering that the girl appeared to be holding off. Both tributes from District 7 were great with an axe, which was not unusual, but the girl – Donna, who he had met – was excellent with a sword, too. And the list kept going.

By the end of the day he was numb, and not from physical exertion. He felt isolated and alone in a room with twenty three other people. Babs was great, and they were already talking about maintaining an alliance in the arena. They were a good team. But he had also felt good talking to Donna after the parade. He wanted to help the small girl from District 11. He had noticed the District 1 girl looking at him like she wanted to approach him. 

It was the complete opposite of the point of the games, but he couldn’t survive alone. Not in a way that mattered.

.

“Your heart is not in this.” Bruce chided him as he easily blocked yet another blow. 

After dinner, Bruce had stood up and given him a look that he could only interpret as “follow”. They walked to an empty room on their floor – Dick didn’t know what it was supposed to be originally, but Bruce had put mats on the floor and probably stripped the room of any surveillance devices, if there had been any. He’d gotten them started following their usual sparring routine with almost no preamble.

Dick lowered his arms. “Well, sorry if I’m not the paragon of focus right now.” It came out more bitterly than he intended. 

Bruce’s brows knitted into a frown, his mouth a straight line, as if he hadn’t noticed Dick’s mood before. It was as surprised as he would ever show himself. “Something wrong?”

Dick took a deep breath, considering his exact words. “I want to try to get to know the rest tomorrow. Know who I can trust to at least not stab me in my sleep, if I ever need to.” Actually, it was more like… whether these were his last days or not, he didn’t want to spend them alone. The strategic approach was a smarter choice with Bruce, and it wasn’t untrue.

It was all for nothing, though. “No.”

“But today –”

“I don’t care, Dick. I know the way you are with people. You will try to see the best in them and trust the wrong person.”

Dick started to feel his face heat up. “B, come on.” His voice felt and sounded restrained. Like he was close to lashing out.

If Bruce noticed, he gave no indication of it. “That’s final. I’m your mentor. You can’t predict how people will act when the countdown hits zero. I know how these things work, and I know what’s best for you right now.”

He couldn’t keep it in anymore. “Don’t treat me like I don’t know what this means, like I don’t know how the games work!”

The outburst didn’t faze Bruce, who pinched the bridge of his nose. “That’s just it, Dick. You don’t. I’ve seen way too many tributes – _kids_ – die because of their cockiness.”

“Cockiness?!” Dick’s eyebrows shot up, and he realised his hands were balled into fists. He slowly unclenched them.

Bruce lifted a hand, placating. “I don’t mean that about you.” There was a beat. “What I meant was – no one really understands the games. You can’t. Not until you’re in the arena and you have choices to make.”

There was a hurt buried deep in those words, and it made Dick’s anger fade until he felt drained. The silence prolonged for a few seconds where they only looked, trying to read each other.

“Why aren’t you this way with Barbara?” Dick broke the silence. “Why does she get to decide?”

Bruce looked away, for the first time. “Because you’re my son.”

His voice didn’t crack – Bruce’s voice never cracked. But, well. He could count on one hand the number of times he had called him that. Still.

“I’m my own person, Bruce. And I’m the one that’s going to be in the games. I’m going to play them the way I want to. The way I need to.”

He waited to see if Bruce would say something else. When he didn’t, he exited the room, leaving the door open and Bruce standing inside, unmoving.

His feet led him away from the rooms, away from everyone else, and into the elevator. He punched the button for the highest floor possible. There, he found a hallway leading up to a single door. It wasn’t hard to pick the lock. It opened, and when the fresh air hit his face he finally felt like he could really breathe.

He walked as close to the edge as he could, and looked down – the streets were never quiet in the Capitol, even less so with the Games right around the corner. Then, he looked up at the stars.

It was a windy night, especially this high up. He stood on his tiptoes, resisting the urge to lean in; if he closed his eyes he could imagine he was flying, the wind lifting him up as he rose through the sky. Then fell, then rose again. He wanted that moment when you’d let go of the trapeze bar, before your partner caught you, when you were in freefall. He longed to fly free, unrestrained.

He didn’t know how long he stood there, but he instantly missed the night sky when he went back inside. He felt so suddenly tired, so weighed down by emotions, that that night he fell asleep instantly. 

.

The elevator doors closed behind him and Barbara gave him one last look, searching for something in his face that would tell her he was okay, before going ahead on her own. They’d talked about it during breakfast and decided they would train separately today, to cover more ground while they tried to figure out the rest of the tributes. It was her that had come up with the idea and it was a good one, so Dick just agreed. He hadn’t said much at all during breakfast, really. The tension between him and Bruce had been overly evident, at least to Dick, and to say it was an uncomfortable meal would be an understatement. 

Bruce was the farthest from a talkative person, but when he was displeased or mad his silence was different. Pointed. Dick wasn’t sure which of the two it had been this morning – whether he really was mad at him, or just annoyed. In any case, he was glad to be away from it now. 

They hadn’t arrived too early today – there was no reason to – so there were people already at the gym; all the Careers and about half of the rest. There was something off in the room, and Dick couldn’t place what it was until he saw the way the Careers were standing.

The siblings from District 2, Tommy and Tuppence Terror, were standing alongside the boy from District 1, Klarion Bleak. They were facing two of the others, the tributes from District 4. Though “facing” wasn’t exactly the way to describe it; they were cornering them against one of the walls, leaving them no space to get away. Only one Career was missing: Koriand’r, from District 1. Which was odd, since it had seemed to Dick that she was the one calling the shots.

He _had_ to get closer to them to figure out what was going on. While he walked around stations, hiding himself as best as he could so he’d get within earshot without being noticed, he looked for Koriand’r.

He found her on the opposite side of the room, talking to the boy from District 5. Victor, if Dick wasn’t mistaken. He hadn’t noticed him much up until then; Bruce hadn’t mentioned him as being connected to the League, the way many of the other tributes were, and he was athletic but didn’t particularly stand out at any skill; or if he did, he wasn't showing it. Koriand’r was laughing with him, and in the distance Dick thought he could see a smile tugging at the corners of Victor’s lips, almost breaking through his stoic expression.

He turned his attention back to the other Careers: it was clear that Districts 1 and 2 were trying to intimidate District 4. Dick was willing to bet that they’d waited for the moment they could go behind Koriand’r’s back. 

He finally got close enough to hear what they were saying.

“You think you’re good enough to run with us? All of us are here because we want to be here.” Tommy Terror had a look of disgust on his face. “You didn’t volunteer, you got reaped, like any other random tribute. Dumb luck.”

“That may be true, but it doesn’t mean she is not capable. I will vouch for her.” The boy from District 4 – Kaldur, he’d heard people call him the day before – had a steady voice, calm but strong; he was trying to be conciliatory.

Tuppence sneered at him. “Look at him, trying to protect his little girlfriend.”

“That is not what I am.” The girl from 4 said, taking a step so she’d be standing next to her district partner. She was keeping her cool pretty well, Dick had to recognize. Especially considering this seemed to have been going on for a while now.

“No? What are you then? ‘Cause right now, him tellin’ us to accept you is the only thing you’ve got going for yourself.”

“I don’t need you to accept me. In fact” she raised a finger at them, “I don’t need you at all.”

Kaldur placed a hand on her arm, trying to get her to stop talking. “Tula–”

“No, _Kaldur_ , let her continue. You think you can survive on your own, then? You’re gonna win doing what, water tricks?” She let out a loud laugh, and Dick almost got offended. It wasn’t even that funny. These guys needed to work on their banter. 

No one else had noticed the confrontation so far. Except now, at the sound of her laughter, so out of place with the scene, Dick saw the redhead boy from District 6 perk up and look at them, puzzled. 

“Maybe we would’ve felt generous, let you in. Consider not killin’ ya in your sleep. But if you insist you don’t need us…”

“She insists. We’re just complyin’ with her wishes, aren’t we, brother Tommy?”

Klarion groaned loudly. He was still blocking their path, but it seemed like as soon as he noticed there wasn't going to be a big fight, he wasn't invested anymore. “Oh my God, this got boring really fast. Just kick her out already.”

“Yes, please, kick us out. I am sure we’ll be better off without your gang of witless–“

Tommy cut her off before she could continue throwing insults at them, in that sweet voice of hers. Dick was disappointed; he wanted to know what she’d come up with next. “You heard us, then. You’re out. And you,” he added, pointing a finger at Kaldur’ahm, “if you want to align yourself with that failure, that’s your funeral.”

Kaldur crossed his arms. “I would rather be allies with someone I trust.” 

Tula looked at him, gratitude written all over her face. She grabbed his hand and smoothly led them away, finding the one small space between the three of them where they could both pass them by. As they walked away, Dick noticed someone else approaching: Koriand’r. And she didn’t seem pleased.

The path she was walking would lead her straight by the place Dick was standing, and there was no way she wouldn’t notice he’d been listening. He’d heard all he needed to hear; he quickly went into the station closest to him and tried to act like he wasn’t aware of Koriand’r walking right behind him. 

He found himself in the axe wielding station. Before he could decide if he wanted to stay or not, the expert was already giving him instructions. He tried to put the scene he’d just witnessed away from his mind, but he kept wondering. Like what Koriand’r’s reaction had been, and whether she'd try to win Kaldur and Tula back. Them agreeing was unlikely. Would this create a divide between Koriand’r and the rest, too? Or would she be keeping a stronger hold on them? Would Kaldur and Tula try to find different allies, or would they trust everyone else even less now?

He snapped out of it when the instructor put an axe in his hands. He couldn’t afford being distracted right when he was learning a new skill. He’d have time to dissect everything that had happened later. 

The instructor finished going over the security measures. She told him how to grab the axe and how to stand, and pointed unnecessarily at the target right in front of Dick – as if he wouldn't be able to find it. She went back to sit at her spot and left him to fend for himself.

The axe was an unfamiliar weight in his hands. It was a weird balance to get used to, and his posture felt wrong but the instructor never corrected him. The first time he threw the axe it clattered rather embarrassingly against the wall. Right next to the target, in his defense, but still. 

“Your feet are too far apart,” came a voice from behind.

He turned around in surprise. Donna Troy stood with her hands on her hips, looking at him intently. 

"What are you doing?" Dick said, suspiciously, as Donna came to stand beside him.

"Just trying to help, you looked like you needed it." Donna gave him a smile, as if trying to reassure him. Her eyes were gentle. "Your feet should be shoulder width apart, and lock your wrists. Try not to hold yourself too stiffly."

He tentatively followed her instructions, and wasn't surprised that he found himself feeling more comfortable holding the axe. When he threw it, this time it actually stuck to the board. 

He retrieved it, and walking back he saw Donna look satisfied. She didn't make any motion to try the station herself – there was an empty spot right beside him, but she was focused on Dick only. 

She kept giving him pointers and he got closer to the target each time. He was still lacking force and speed, and he doubted that he could land a blow with a target farther away. He was confident he could land it on a moving target, though - he had always had good aim - and it was still improvement; a skill that could possibly save his life if it came to it. Which begged the question.

"Why are you helping me?"

"Pity? You were failing miserably at first, I couldn't bear looking at it." She let out a short laugh, and Dick knew she was joking. She shrugged. "I don't know, I guess. You seem nice, and it's not like I'm giving you all my tricks, anyways."

Dick splayed a hand on his chest in mock offence. “Your words hurt, Donna.”

“They were meant to, _Dick._ ” The emphasis on his name was subtle enough that Dick didn’t know if it was on purpose or not. He rolled his eyes at her anyways.

In the end, she did make use of the axe wielding station. He looked at her moving with such confidence and strength he had no doubt that what she’d taught him barely made a difference, at least compared to her. She moved with a grace and agility that was instinctual, and Dick knew he could never reach the same level of skill in just two days. 

They both left the station at the same time and it felt only natural that they’d keep training side by side. There was a lot that Dick still wanted to learn – hammock making and camouflage was fun, and Donna dragged him to the wrestling station, where Dick tried to focus on any advice he didn’t know. Donna wasn’t a distraction at all; what’s more, it felt better, training with her. They had an easy understanding, not a hundred percent rid of the tension that came with being tributes, but in a way free of the expectations that had come with training with Babs the day before. 

Lunch-time arrived quickly, and they went to the cafeteria. It was a bit louder than the day before, people from different districts interacting more. He waved at Babs when he saw her, sitting with the blond girl from District 9, Kara. She smiled back at him but didn’t call him over, so he followed Donna to another table. 

They sat down side by side at a long table, where some others were already eating – the pair from 12 and the guy from 6. The first ones were in front of Dick and Donna, speaking quietly about something, both with serious expressions on their faces; the other guy was to Dick’s left, tapping his fingers on the table absentmindedly. He remembered Bruce mentioning League connections for all of them, so he was fairly sure of their names. Artemis and Roy, and Wally. 

They had barely gotten started with their food when Wally leaned in towards the center of the table, speaking in a conspiratorial tone.

“You guys heard about the Careers?”

Roy and Artemis looked up from their conversation to stare at Wally, and Donna leaned in to be able to look at him on Dick’s other side. Dick himself was surprised that Wally was trying to make conversation, but then again, he didn’t seem like the quiet type. 

“There was a fight earlier today and they split up. I saw it.” He continued, his bright green eyes sparkling at the gossip he’d been able to catch. 

“I wouldn’t say it was a fight really.” Dick couldn’t help but interject. “More like, Districts 1 and 2 tried to kick the District 4 girl out, and her partner stood up for her and now they’re on their own.”

Everyone looked at Dick with puzzlement, including Donna. 

“How could you possibly know that?” Wally blurted out, squinting his eyes at Dick. 

Dick smiled at him, lifting an eyebrow. “I have my ways.”

“Huh.” Wally was still looking at him. He shook his head as if to put away a thought. “Well. Better for us, right? That they’re not all working together?”

Roy, who had been silent until now, spoke up. “Us?” He was leaning against the back of his seat, arms crossed. 

“Yeah, _us_. The poor ones whose names came out of the glass bowl.” Dick looked away. He thought Donna noticed, but she didn’t say anything. “The ones who haven’t...” he leaned in even more to stage whisper, “ _trained_ their whole lives for this.” 

Artemis glanced behind Dick, towards where the Careers were making a ruckus. “Must be nice to come here prepared.”

Wally turned towards her with a sly smile on his face. “Sorry, beautiful. I didn’t introduce myself. Wally West.” He said, sticking out a hand across the table for her to shake – ignoring everyone else sitting there. 

She didn’t take it, mirroring her district partner’s position. It was awkward for a second before Wally cleared his throat and went on as if nothing had happened. “Anyways. I don’t think I know everyone’s names?”

They all introduced themselves, Artemis begrudgingly going last. Wally had to carry most of the conversation – which he didn’t seem to mind – before the rest got comfortable enough to start jumping in and making comments. 

“I fell down, like, four times trying to do the ropes course. I don’t know how anyone does it.” Wally complained at some point.

Roy huffed, but it sounded almost like a laugh. “That’s just because you have no upper body strength, dude.” 

“We can’t all be hunks like you.” Wally said, not so subtly eyeing Roy’s arms – Roy only smiled and winked. “And who needs upper body strength when you’re _fast_.”

“I’m sure that’s not right.” Donna frowned. Wally dismissed it with a wave of his hand. 

Dick was struck by a thought that made him laugh out loud. “You’re gonna, like, try to climb a tree or something and fall on your ass.” 

“I can picture you on the ground.” Roy continued after Dick. “ _Damn, I sure would trade my speed_ _for Roy’s_ hunky arms _right now._ ” He said in a mockery of Wally’s way of speaking, and the table erupted in laughter. 

“Hey!” Wally protested. “Who decided it was gang-up-on-Wally time? Artemis, defend me from these monsters.” He pleaded, grabbing Artemis’ hand that was on top of the table and lowering his head at her.

Artemis didn’t shake his hand away this time. “No way. I’m enjoying the show.”

“Betrayal cuts deep.” Wally lamented as he leaned back against his chair. They all laughed again, less raucously this time. Even Wally joined them after dropping his melodramatic act. 

Dick wasn’t sure about the last time he’d laughed as carefree as this.

.

Feeling better after the success that training was that day, Dick left the gym early to try to find Bruce. Resolve things, at least as much as they could. If left up to Bruce, they might continue with the silent treatment up until the last possible second, and that was the last thing he wanted for his last moments in the Capitol.

He remembered what Bruce had told him and Babs that first breakfast, and hoped he wasn't currently meeting with the League. He was lucky: he tried his room first, and when he was getting close to the door he started hearing voices come from inside. The door was closed; he stopped and listened as soon as he could make out what they were saying.

“We’ve already had to change enough of our plans because of the reapings. This could jeopardise everything even more.” That was obviously Bruce.

“I just can’t believe how we let this happen right under our noses.” Dick recognized Clark's voice, and the frustration in it. “We knew about Conner. We should’ve paid closer attention to what Lex did to him.”

They were talking about Conner Kent... and President Luthor? What did they have to do with each other? He remembered how the President was always a touchy subject with Clark. Dick obviously didn't like him, himself, but with Clark it seemed personal.

“There’s nothing we can change about that now.” Bruce said bluntly, sounding like he deeply wished there was. “We need to plan ahead. Keep a close eye and figure out how far his control goes. I’ll ask Diana and Dinah to stay on top of strategy and coordination so I can look into Luthor. You focus on Conner.”

Strategy? Coordination? These were terms he’d already heard them use, but there was something urgent about the way they’d been said this time. Dick wanted nothing more than to burst in and demand information, but that would achieve nothing, not with Bruce. 

“I’ll consult with the others to see if there’s anything we can do to help him. Maybe reverse this. Though I don’t think we’ll be able to do anything before the Games.”

There was a brief silence. Dick wished he could see them, try to read them.

“You’re worried about something. Something else.”

Clark sighed loud and long enough that Dick could hear it. “I shouldn’t have confronted Lex. I’m worried he’ll do something to Conner because of me. That he’ll hurt him, and it’ll be my fault.”

“No, you shouldn’t have confronted him.” He let the words linger, and Dick could picture Clark looking down. “But he was already planning on hurting him. Anything he does, that’s on him.”

“Let’s hope we can do something before he gets the chance to, then.”

Would it hurt them to talk about things more explicitly? They had no consideration for the poor potential eavesdropper who might be missing context. Shameful.

“Hope will only get us so far.” His tone was neutral, but years of experience told Dick he was actually _teasing_ him. 

“Hey, don’t attack my whole shtick.” Clark said, laughing half-heartedly. That seemed to lighten the air a little. 

“Go and inform J’onn of this. Maybe he’ll have some insight. Don’t tell Conner yet.”

“Do you really think I shouldn’t?” Clark sounded doubtful.

“He must have enough in his mind already, and there’s nothing he can do about this. We’ll tell him when we have more answers.” 

Clark didn’t respond, but Dick heard footsteps coming towards the door. He was too close to walk away in time. Dick tried to act like he hadn’t been eavesdropping, though there wasn’t much point in trying to lie to Clark, who probably knew he’d been there the whole time.

Clark acted surprised when he walked out the door and saw him there; he was either a really good actor, or somehow hadn’t noticed Dick before then. His eyes squinted at him in suspicion, but he then composed himself.

“Hey, kiddo.” 

“Uncle Clark!” Dick said, cheerfully. It really was always nice to see Clark, whichever the circumstances. “Is Bruce in his room?” If he really hadn’t heard Dick before, at least he could try to keep up appearances.

“Sure, he’s in there. I was just leaving.” 

“Ah, ok, then.” He hesitated and took a shot. “How’s Conner doing?”

Clark’s face twisted before he could stop himself. Then he composed himself, again. He really wore his emotions on his sleeve. “I bet you saw him more than I did today. But he’s good, given… everything that’s going on.”

Dick couldn’t bear not knowing what they’d been talking about, but he couldn’t ask more without tipping off Clark. So he just smiled. “I’m glad.” He tipped his head towards Bruce’s room. “I’ll go talk to the big man.” 

Clark laughed. “Good luck.” He ruffled his hair as he walked past him, making Dick roll his eyes. 

Bruce was sitting on the edge of his bed when Dick walked in, elbows on his knees and chin propped on his intertwined hands. When he looked at Dick he didn’t seem surprised; his eyes noticed his ruffled hair and he almost started smiling before he stopped, probably remembering how they’d left things last time they talked. Dick self consciously patted down his hair, anyways. 

Dick wasn’t sure what to do standing up when Bruce stayed unmoving, so he sat down on a small armchair near the bed. He leant forward in a mirror or Bruce’s posture before he realized what he was doing, and leant back again. 

“How was training today?” Bruce asked, his voice carefully neutral. 

“It went well.” Dick matched Bruce’s even tone. “I learned axe throwing, and hammock making. And other things. Donna Troy helped me. More with the axe than the hammocks. Don’t worry, I didn’t show off or attract any attention.”

Bruce only hummed. He’d have to be the one to start the conversation, something Dick was used to. He’d been thinking about what to say for a while, but he still felt like he was missing a guide when it came to talking to Bruce. 

In the end, he tried not to overthink it. “I shouldn’t have stormed off yesterday. I wasn’t making an effort to understand your point of view… but you weren’t making one, either.”

Bruce was looking at him, his blue-gray eyes fixed on his. He didn’t contest any of what he was saying, which felt almost like agreement. So he went on.

“I get that you want what’s best for me. I get that you have the experience. I just need you to listen to me, you know?”

Bruce nodded. “I’m listening.”

Dick took a deep breath. “I can’t cut myself off from everyone and survive that way, Bruce.” 

His face was stern, but there was something under the surface. “There’s no alliance you can make that will make anything easier.”

“You didn’t spend _your_ games alone.” Dick shot back, feeling childish as soon as he said it.

“Why do you think I’m telling you this?” His voice almost trembled. Almost.

Fuck. He should’ve known better than to bring up Bruce’s games. Loss was a permanent fixture in Bruce’s life, even before his name was drawn out of the reaping ball. His parents. Selina. Harvey. Dick always felt guilty when he reminded him of it.

Dick closed his eyes, “We’re not the same.”

“We’re more alike than you think.” When Dick opened his eyes, Bruce was looking at him. Open in a way he reserved for his family.

“Then you understand why I have to do what I feel is right. You taught me that much.”

“I… you’re right.” Bruce swallowed. “This isn’t easy for me.”

“And it’s easy for me?” Dick couldn’t stop himself from replying, but he quickly settled down. “...Sorry, sorry. I didn’t come here to fight.” He rubbed a hand against his face. He was more tired than he’d realized. 

“I don’t want to fight, either.” He looked like he was thinking about his next words, so Dick let him continue. “Our district has a good number of victors, all things considered. But I’ve been a mentor for twenty eight years. Every year that none of ours wins, it’s a failure. Especially this year… I don’t want to have any regrets.”

It was so like Bruce, to carry the entire responsibility of the Games on his shoulders. Like there was anything he could do about them. He probably thought he wasn’t doing enough. Dick didn’t… _not_ understand the feeling.

“You know you can’t control everything that happens, always. Sometimes people need to make their own choices. Even their own mistakes.”

“I would say the Hunger Games is hardly geared towards _learning_.”

There was nothing Dick could argue about that. “I know.” 

In the silence that followed, Dick wasn’t sure if there was something more he wanted to say. He wasn’t mad or resentful, at least not anymore, but he couldn’t help feeling that something had broken between them. He missed the days when their relationship was easy, or when he was young enough to think it was. 

Then Bruce surprised him, leaning forward to grab his shoulder. “For what it’s worth… I’m sorry.” The words had a weight that told Dick he was talking about more than just the argument from the day before. 

So many things unspoken, left for Dick to figure out. He was tired of having to read between the lines. 

.

The next morning, Dick found himself saying _hi_ to other tributes when he arrived at the gym. Wally called him over with a grin on his face as soon as he saw Dick, and they trained together for a while. Wally couldn’t seem to stay in one place for long, and they moved over from one station to the other so quick that Dick doubted how Wally could be learning anything, but he seemed to be doing alright. There wasn’t a silent moment between them – Dick found it easy to talk to him, and any moment where he didn’t have anything to say Wally easily filled. 

It was effortless, it was fun, and that was finally what clued him in that it was wrong.

In the middle of a dumb joke he was telling Wally, Dick suddenly realized he’d been thinking in terms of friendships instead of alliances. He wanted to be Wally’s friend because they got along and shared a sense of humour. He wanted to be Donna’s friend, and Roy’s, and Artemis’. But he hadn’t been analyzing them as potential allies. Or threats. 

The voice in his head that made him aware of that fact sounded suspiciously like Bruce. It wasn’t really the same after that.

Knowing they wouldn’t stay together at the arena and that Wally wouldn’t be his choice of an ally now made Dick feel a pang of guilt when he talked to him. Wally must have noticed something, some reluctance or resistance from him, because after a few forced attempts at humor from Dick he gave him a lousy excuse and left him alone. 

Dick hated to admit that Bruce had been – in one aspect, at least – right. He kept turning over every interaction he’d had with the other tributes, and as much as he knew that given time he could learn to trust them, work with them, _time_ wasn’t exactly something he had in abundance. It was the last day of training, and there was no one he could be a hundred percent sure about except Babs - someone he already knew, already trusted. The arena might surprise him, and in a moment of need he might come to ally with someone else, but Babs was the only one he wouldn’t be second guessing every step of the way. 

He only hoped she hadn’t changed her mind about him.

He resolved to make the most of training now, and go talk to her after. Worst case scenario, he’d have to go at it on his own. The thought made something twist in his chest, but he didn’t let himself worry about it now.

He did talk shortly with Donna, then Roy and Artemis when he saw them, but it didn’t feel right anymore. He ended up on his own again, still watching everyone else.

Conner Kent was at the weight lifting station on his own; as soon as he saw him, the conversation he’d overheard the day before was suddenly pushed to the front in his mind. He’d been mulling over Bruce and Clark’s words, since he’d heard them, and all he knew for certain was: there was something President Luthor had done to Conner Kent, part of it they were aware of and part of it they’d just learned about, and Clark had called the President out on it, which meant the President knew that he knew. 

Observing Conner told Dick nothing about it. From what he’d heard, he wasn’t made aware of whatever the problem was – the recent development, at least –, so there was nothing that changed about his behaviour. He was closed off and scowling as usual. There was something nagging him in the back of his brain, something he had noticed the first time he'd seen him in person: his incredible similarity to Clark. But that wasn't enough to form a theory – not one that would be up to Dick's standards, anyways.

Trying to approach him and get answers off of him would probably not pay off, might even set him on edge, so that wasn't an option. He might have to accept the fact that he wouldn't be learning more at all, and he hated it. 

Besides Conner, the most interesting tributes to watch were still the Careers. After the drama from the day before they'd become louder, as if to make up for the fact that they were now fewer in number. Dick would describe them all as bullies except for Koriand'r, who didn't seem exactly uncomfortable with the others but sometimes looked at the twins from District 2 like she'd rather be with anyone but them – something that made Dick smile internally. Now that Dick thought about it, she was the only one he'd seen talking to non-Careers, namely Victor from District 5 the day before, and, now, two smaller girls – Greta and Wally's district partner, Traci –, who looked hesitant at first but apparently warmed up with her. 

She must be good with people; she did seem to have a kind of spark, a contagious joy that was all natural, not calculated or manipulative.

He made the most of his last minutes of training before the private sessions with the Gamemakers and headed to the cafeteria for lunch. This time, when Babs smiled at him from where she was sitting with the same tribute as the day before - Kara - and another younger girl, he went over to her.

"Can I sit here?" he asked as he set down his tray on the table, the question directed mostly to the girls he didn't know.

The smaller girl nodded at him, shy. Kara looked up at him. “Sure.” She said with a kind smile, though her eyes were wary. 

“I’m Dick.” He introduced himself, sitting down at the empty space, next to the younger girl.

“These are Kara and Mary.” Babs introduced them, pointing to each of them. Now that Babs said her name, he remembered Mary was the tribute from District 8. “He’s from District 3 too.” She clarified to them.

“Oh, right!” Kara seemed to relax, knowing who he was. “I remember seeing you the day of the parade.”

“I’m sure I was eclipsed by Babs, though.” Dick commented. 

Kara laughed and winked at Babs, who pointedly didn’t react to that. “Humility suits you well,” was all she said.

“I’ll keep that in mind.” He retorted with a smile. 

“We were talking about the assessments.” Kara informed him, rubbing her neck absentmindedly as she spoke. “I heard that by District 7 the Gamemakers get tipsy, by 10 they’re almost drunk, and by 12 they’re outright ignoring you.”

Dick jumped into the conversation easily, joining in on their speculation. Mary started speaking up more, too, as she got comfortable with him being there. She was nervous about the assessment, though she was doing her best not to let it show – the girls picked up on it and comforted her without being too obvious about it. 

Lunch was over before he knew it, and he was laughing and bantering with them without realising. He caught himself mid laugh, and cursed internally. This was exactly what he had been trying to avoid by distancing himself from Wally and the others.

After putting their food trays away, they moved to sit in the waiting area. He noticed that once again, Kara sat next to Babs.

From his place on Babs’ other side, he leant over to whisper into her ear, “You and Kara seem close.” 

“I thought we were supposed to be finding allies.” Her face was neutral, but her tone had an underlying bite to it.

“We have to keep our circle small Babs. If you have Kara, we’ll probably have to end up with Conner too.” With everything he’d overheard about Conner, Dick didn’t think it wise to team up with him. He chose not to mention that he’d briefly considered partnering up with Donna. “The more allies we have now, the harder it will be when we inevitably have to betray them later.”

“I know that.” She snapped, before composing herself. She took in a deep breath. “I don’t want to team up with anyone else. I don’t want to trust any of them. I think it should just be the two of us.”

Dick gave her a sad smile. “You took the words right out of my mouth.”

There was a beat. 

“I’m sorry for snapping at you.” She told him.

He nudged her shoulder with his own. “No hard feelings.”

Both tributes from District 1 came and went, then the boy from District 2, and when the girl from 2 was called Dick turned to Babs again. 

“How are you feeling?” It would be his turn next and Babs would go right after. They wouldn’t see each other until after they were both finished, so if he wanted to say anything he’d have to say it now.

“Prepared,” was her reply. Dick knew that she had everything she would do planned practically to the second. As for him, he’d known what he was going to do since the day he first walked into the tribute centre. “What about you?”

“Excited to show them what I can do.”

They fell back into companionable silence until Dick’s name was called. He couldn’t help but look back at Barbara when he stood. She gave him a reassuring smile, which he returned, before he turned and made his way through the doors.

The gym looked like an entirely different place without all the tributes milling around, what he’d become used to in the past couple of days. It reminded him of the first moments he’d spent down here, alone with Babs. They felt so far away already. 

The Gamemakers were sitting in their stands donning their purple robes, looking down at him expectantly, wine filled glasses in their hands. No one had told him how to act when he entered the gymnasium. So he went for something that felt comfortable.

He headed straight for the station he’d been dying to get onto since the first day. There were no assistants now, but he found a button on the side that activated the moving platforms. He stood on the first platform, the only one that was static, and finally let himself _move_. 

He jumped from one platform to the other like it was the easiest thing. To do the entire course he had to pass the set of moving platforms – unpredictable, with varying speeds and heights. Then onto a balance beam, where he landed perfectly and didn’t falter while walking it. Finally, he had to jump high enough to reach a set of gymnastic rings. He’d seen plenty of tributes fail in this portion, too focused on balancing and unable to gain the momentum necessary to do the jump.

It wasn’t hard at all.

He swung across the gymnastic rings until he got to the last one, and he’d gained enough force to do a somersault after letting go and landing safely on the ground. 

He chanced a glance at the Gamemakers; some of them were leaning forward, interested, while others didn’t look like they particularly cared. Acrobatic skills wouldn’t secure him a high score, but that wasn’t the goal. He just needed enough to not be discounted immediately.

That had probably just landed him a few points, but since they didn’t dismiss him right then, he made a last second decision. He hadn’t even been near the station the whole three days, but he knew he could do it. 

There was a board propping up differently sized knives, daggers, and other throwing weapons. He grabbed as many as he could carry with one hand; a few different types, all similarly balanced. He stood in front of the target and took a deep breath.

He threw one after the other, not too quickly so as to not look experienced. Every one of them hit exactly where he wanted them to. Except he didn’t always aim for the center; he even let a couple hit the target wrong enough that they fell and clattered to the ground. 

He was considering whether to keep at it or try something else when one of the Gamemakers spoke up. “You’re dismissed,” they said in a bored tone. The rest were already not looking at him, having moved on. Some of them looked tipsy, and they were all drinking non stop; they'd probably be drunk by the time it was District 12's turn. 

He wanted to scream at them, he didn’t know what, but _something_. Their indifference was infuriating. They didn’t just let the Games happen, like the citizens of the Capitol did; they were actively making them possible. The Gamemakers were with them every step of the way: saw them train, gave them scores, controlled the arena. Controlled their deaths. They couldn’t act like the Games weren’t something happening to real people, not when Dick was standing right there, tangible and small in a big, empty gymnasium. 

He desperately needed to be able to do something about it, couldn’t just stand by. But he didn’t really have a choice. All he could do, at least for now, was walk away. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another day, another chapter! We managed to squeeze in even more cameos this time round, some of them more obscure than others, how many of them can you spot?
> 
> Babs’ chariot costume is inspired by her first New 52 costume, which you can see [here](https://www.deviantart.com/artgerm/art/DC-Comics-Cover-Girls-Batgirl-358887711). Dick’s costume is inspired by [this](https://mabychan.tumblr.com/post/86822243132/outfit-remake-for-all-the-robins-d-dick) Nightwing redesign by Mabychan. For everyone else, we mostly took inspiration from the district’s specialty, and hints of their superhero costumes. 
> 
> If you can figure out which ones were inspired by their supersuits, and if you can recognise the cameos, leave a comment below!
> 
> We hope you enjoyed it!


	3. Presenting Your Best Self

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Koriand'r has been preparing for this moment her whole life, and she's ready to make an impression. She finds out, however, that it's impossible to prepare for everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, we’re a couple days late, but here’s a 14k chapter to make up for it! Plus the art finally shows up in this chapter! It’s embedded into the chapter at the corresponding moments, and you can also see it on tumblr [here](https://weepingonyx.tumblr.com/post/190418397360/another-piece-for-the-youngjusticebigbang-i-got) and [here](https://onyxangel.tumblr.com/post/190418445598/and-my-final-piece-for-the-youngjusticebigbang) \- go give it some likes and reblogs! 
> 
> Life is getting in the way, so we’re going to have to move the updates to weekly instead. We want to give you the best finished product that we can, and this way we can make it happen. 
> 
> Also yes, this is a whole chapter narrated by Koriand’r in a Young Justice fic… she deserves all the love and appreciation! We were also really interested in exploring how she would interact with Young Justice’s version of these characters. 
> 
> This is the last chapter of set up, next week will have the start of the Games and the beginning of all the action. We hope you enjoy this last moment of calm before the storm!

Kory was sitting on the plush sofa, chewing at her fingernails. 

“Stop!” Beatriz slapped her hand away from her mouth, giving her a stern look. From Bea’s other side, Tora looked apologetic on her girlfriend’s behalf. “You’re ruining our hard work on your manicure.”

“Sorry Bea,” Kory sighed. She thought the assessment had gone well but she wouldn’t be able to stop fretting until she got her score. _Perfection. Perfection. Perfection._

The whole District 1 team was sitting in the living room, on the fancy Capitol sofas, waiting for the showing to start. Zatanna and Nabu were sitting on opposite sides, and Kory and Klarion, along with their stylists, were in the middle.

Interrupting their conversation, the television blared out the Capitol fanfare before showing Cat Grant and Felix Faust. 

“Welcome back to the coverage of the 46th Hunger Games! Now we show you the results of the tributes’ training evaluations.”

They talked a little more, explaining how the training wasn’t shown and how the Gamemakers evaluated each individual tribute, but Kory had heard it a million times so she tuned it out.

Eventually Klarion’s picture came onto the screen, and a 9 flashed next to it. Zatanna let out some congratulations and the room’s other occupants all clapped.

Nabu merely nodded. “Adequate.”

“Hardass,” Klarion muttered under his breath, and Kory laughed.

“Nice score,” she told him.

Cat announced Kory’s name next, and a 10 came up on screen alongside her picture.

Kory let out a breath that she didn’t know she’d been holding. She laughed out in relief too, grinning at Beatriz and Tora who had both grabbed her hands and were showering her with congratulations.

“We can work with this.” Zatanna sent a wink her way.

The presenters continued, announcing the scores for the rest of the Districts. District 2 both got 10s, which was expected. Both tributes from 3 got 7s, which was on the higher end, but still a fairly average score. Kaldur got a 9, and not for the first time Kory wished he hadn’t been driven away by her allies. Victor got a 7; having already spent some time with him Kory knew that he was intelligent, and she couldn’t help but wonder what he’d shown the Gamemakers. Though, privately, she’d expected him to get at least an 8. 

What wasn’t expected was the girl from 7, both tributes from nine and the boy from eleven also getting 10s. The boy from 12 had also received only a 7, which surprised Kory, as he had the muscular upper body that came with rigorous training. The Gamemakers were usually impressed with strength and brute force, so she thought he would’ve scored higher too.

As the program wrapped up, a steady chatter filled the room. Though it had been hinted at with the reaping, it was now becoming evident that this year would be a supremely interesting one. Kory was now looking forward to the interviews for more reasons than getting to show off her people skills.

.

Her mentor was already sitting in the spacious sitting room when Kory arrived. Zatanna was sitting in one of two chairs on the side of the room, drinking from a porcelain cup. The wall behind her was entirely glass, showing off the colorful buildings of the Capitol glinting in the sunlight. Kory walked over to sit down in the chair next to her mentor, Zatanna’s eyes on her the whole time.

Zatanna was dressed in her usual low cut white blouse and black leather skirt, fishnets peeking out from above her knee high boots. She had khol rimming her eyes and her silky black hair was artfully tousled. She was the embodiment of ‘ _Rebel without a care’._ They sat in silence, Zatanna studying Kory minutely. Kory knew she looked impeccable- from her head, with her meticulously braided fiery curls, to her unblemished golden orange skin, to her perfectly manicured fingernails. Perfect was the norm in District 1, and perfect she was. She had to be.

“Well, in terms of tributes I seemed to have lucked out this year.” The older woman commented. “And you’re already well versed in etiquette and presentation?”

Kory nodded.

Zatanna decided they would start with how Kory would be clothed. Physical presentation was of vital importance, since it was the first thing anyone would see when she walked in. Everything had to be faultless. Kory’s stylist, Beatriz da Costa, had left out a clothing rack full of options in the room they were currently in. She herself would be coming in later, but for now Kory and Zatanna would be free to look over the choices and reject any that weren’t suitable.

They knew immediately that they would play to her strengths. Zatanna wanted something slinky and sensual to enhance her physical appearance. 

“Something like this,” she said, pulling aside one of the dresses. It was a slip of a thing, it could barely even be called a dress. It was basically a satin bra, with several layers of chiffon flowing out from it, just opaque enough to not be considered lewd but still transparent enough that you’d be able to see her skin underneath. It was short too; it would end mid thigh once Kory had it on. It was too simple for something as important as this interview.

“Or this.” Zatanna pulled out another dress. This one had more fabric than the previous one but not much more. It was held together by silver organza, with darker silver embroidery around the chest and hip area which would be just enough to preserve her modesty. It was gorgeous, and Kory could imagine that if she were to wear it the silver would pop against her skin and make her glitter, but it still wasn’t speaking to her. She wanted to look fierce, like a force to be reckoned with. She knew she was beautiful, but she wanted to be more than that too.

“Are there any more… complex options?” she asked. Zatanna paused in her examination of the dress rack to turn to face Kory. She studied Kory’s face, evidently finding whatever she was looking for, before turning and walking to the screen by the door and tapping something out. Minutes later, the door opened to reveal a woman with a mane of thick wavy green hair and green eyes that matched her green crop top and flared trousers perfectly. She’d even colour coordinated her makeup, eyeliner and lipstick both perfectly applied and very much green.

The woman, Kory’s stylist, smiled widely and walked over to where Kory was standing, embracing her and kissing both her cheeks.

“Kory, how nice to see you again _bela._ Did you not like the clothes I selected?” Beatriz asked.

Zatanna cut in before Kory could answer, “We want something bolder. These are a little too simple for our tastes; we want to make a statement.”

“Bolder. Statement. Hmm… let me see what I can do for you.” Beatriz tapped her chin with her index finger, deep in thought. She moved over to where the rack was and pressed a button that was embedded in the wall. The wall opened to reveal an entire workroom, with a giant walk-in closet off to the side. She disappeared into the closet for a few moments, before reemerging with a bundle of fabric draped across her arms.

She walked over to a mannequin in the workroom and proceeded to place the dress onto it. It was gorgeous, a deep royal purple charmeuse silk. It had a neckline that dipped down to the point where Kory’s ribs would meet, which was expected, and it was skin tight and backless, and would hug her curves, up until above the knees where it extended out to form a train behind her. There was 2 metres of fabric spilling out from each shoulder blade and giving the illusion of a cape.

What wasn’t expected was the additions. Bea had added engraved golden metal epaulettes to each shoulder, with additional plating that extended across her collarbones to form a collar around her neck, with a bright red jewel adorning the middle, along with metal pieces on each hip that also resembled armour. 

On the table next to the mannequin was a gorgeous intricate golden headpiece that looked like a very ornate crown. It had 7 iridescent parts shaped like upside down teardrops, held together at the top and base by winding golden metal. The base then extended down the crown of her head and reached the hairline, consisting of little diamond shapes embedded with green jewels and connected by the same metal that connected the teardrops.

It had one final teardrop shape, bigger than the diamonds but smaller than the ones that extended from the headpiece, which was positioned in the centre of her hairline, with one large green jewel embedded in the centre. 

Alongside it were two winding bracelets that almost resembled arm bracers. They each had a gleaming green jewel placed on the top of the wrist. 

Kory was instantly enamored with everything. She walked over to the mannequin and reached out, delicately tracing the fabric with her fingers. “This is perfect Bea. It’s exactly what I wanted.”

“It’s an outfit fit for a warrior princess. It’ll be worthy of you.” Beatriz smiled.

Zatanna walked over to where they were standing, and examined it closer. “It’ll have to be fitted for tonight, we want it to fit perfectly. Can you make the necessary adjustments?” 

“Pah,” Beatriz scoffed, “Can I? It will be done in 3 hours. And I will have the perfect shoes to go with it.”

“Thank you Beatriz,” Zatanna smiled, “You can go work your magic now, we’ll leave you to it.”

With that, Beatriz nodded and moved the mannequin over to the back of the room where the sewing machines were. Zatanna gestured to Kory to follow her, and they left the work room to continue with their preparations.

“Thank you Bea!” Kory called after her.

They went back into the room they’d been using for the interview training, and sat back in their chairs. Zatanna was silent for a minute, cocking her head slightly, examining Kory.

“You want to be taken seriously.” She stated.

“I know what I look like. I know what people think when they see me; their preconceived notions of how I’d act.” Kory had experience with being the center of attention, and the way people would brand her as unintelligent and ditzy without even talking to her. “There’s nothing wrong with being pretty. But if that’s all people think of me, they’re never going to take me seriously enough to bet on me.” 

Zatanna smiled at that. “Thank you for telling me. At least we’re on the same page now.” She pulled a slim tablet from her pocket, tapping at the screen to show her notes. “Why don’t we start with the way you’ll hold yourself; how you’ll walk, how you’ll sit.”

She would be wearing heels, of course. She’d already been trained to master the ability to walk, run and jump in heels back in District 1, so walking across the room in a practice dress and heels was a breeze. 

“You’re already a _natural_.” Zatanna called out, a glint of humor twinkling in her eyes, the implication of the training back in District 1 going unsaid. “Good posture is an important part of being taken seriously. If you slump it looks like you don’t want to be there, sitting up straight shows confidence in yourself. An assertion of power.

“Now, as you know, presentation extends to body language, facial expressions and the manner in which you speak. It all has to be cohesive. If you want to do sexy, you have to commit to sexy in everything you do. If you want to be fierce, the same applies.”

Kory nodded. Her angle had been decided back in District 1 as soon as she turned 16. She was sexy all the way. After workshopping it a bit, they decided that she’d keep her voice soft and breathy, but with an undercurrent of steel.

Zatanna didn’t need to give her too many pointers on how to act; she knew Koriand’r Anala was a proud Tamaranean who wouldn’t soften her edges to please anyone. Kory was an open and honest person, every emotion that she felt, she’d feel with every fiber of her being. She was fiery and fierce, she was sexy and sensual, she was self assured and strong. After all she’d been through, she was prepared for anything.

.

They’d all but finished the training by mid-day. Kory was confident in her skills, the Gordonians had made sure of that back in District 1. Zatanna had grown more relaxed over the course of the past few hours, and right now she was flopping back into her chair with a sigh. “I think we’re good.” 

“Do you normally finish early with your other tributes?” 

Zatanna took a moment to consider that, “We don’t usually spend the whole day working but this is still rather early.” She reached out to press yet another button in the wall, and a small section of the wall next to where they were sitting split open to reveal a countertop filled with food. “Let’s eat.”

The small table was filled to the brim with every type of food you could imagine. For the entree, Kory picked a creamy green soup, sprinkled with chopped leek. For the main course, a burgundy beef stew - slow simmered.

Dessert was a spongy tart drenched in sweet syrup with clotted cream on the side. They ate in companionable silence, too focused on the delicious meal in front of them.

Zatanna picked up the little pieces of cake she’d cut up and plopped them in her mouth, licking the syrup off of her fingers and smirking at Kory as she did so. “I know, _I know_ , bad manners. The food here is just so good. I mean, District 1 is good, but the Capitol is on a whole other level.” 

She picked up a moist towelette and delicately cleaned her fingers, before speaking again. “How did your family take the news?”

Kory sighed, “My parents were thrilled, of course. My little brother was happy too. It was my sister who took it the hardest. She’s always been short with me, criticising everything I do. She wanted to be the one chosen, so when it was me instead…” 

Kory trailed off, taking a moment to compose herself. “She hasn’t spoken to me since the announcement, and now that I’m here I can’t do anything except win the games and go home, but who knows if she’ll be any more amenable to me once I’m a victor.”

Zatanna took Kory’s hand in her own, squeezing gently. “You can win this. You win the games, you go home, and then you take it one step at a time.”

“I will.” Kory nodded.

“And I will be helping make sure you do.” Zatanna leant forward, expression serious and food forgotten.

“Tomorrow, you’ll be taken to the catacombs under the arena to get ready, then they’ll put you in a tube to be taken up to the arena. We have no idea what the arena will look like, but there are normally some constants.” She cleared her throat. “The cornucopia, for one. It’ll be full of vital supplies; food and weapons, but also little things like matches, rope, medicinal tools. Things that will mean the difference between success and failure. You're gonna need to get a hold of it, during the first day, and then protect it. 

“You’ll also want to be wary of outside sources of food. The Gamemakers will try to trick you with mirages of safety; food when you’re hungry, water when you’re thirsty. You have to purify your water every time, you have to double and triple check the food that you’re eating. Stick to the cornucopia, but if something happens to the food inside it you’ll need to be prepared.”

She paused for a moment before raising an eyebrow. “Then again, you won’t have to worry about anything in the arena; a beautiful girl like you will have no hardship getting sponsors.” 

Internally, Kory scoffed. Of course they would be tripping over themselves to have a hand in her victory. Capitolites were nothing but greedy. She must have made a face, because Zatanna’s expression changed. 

“I felt the same way about the Capitolites when I was in your position. They’re not the most sensitive people. Always desperate for more blood and carnage.” 

“But that’s the way it is.” Kory said, fidgeting slightly. “There’s nothing we can do to change it.” 

Zatanna’s lips pulled down into a frown, but she didn’t comment on it any more. 

“The Capitolites are easy to manipulate, if you know what strings to pull. You can have them hanging on to your every word.”

Kory grinned. “That’s something I’m good at.”

“I was too.” Zatanna’s voice sounded almost sad. “Just don’t lose yourself in the charade.” She reached out, grasping Kory’s hand. “I’m here with you every step of the way, whatever you need.”

Zatanna’s gaze was intense, her electric blue eyes stared unblinking into Kory’s own. There was a sense of solidarity there, former and current tributes gaining an understanding of each other. Zatanna squeezed Kory’s hand and then pulled her arm back.

“There’s also the Gamemakers.” She said, moving the conversation back to the arena. “They’ll lace the arena with traps and muttations. They’re slightly different every year but they all follow the same pattern; they’re designed to make your life miserable. They’re predictable in their unpredictability. You can’t get complacent.

“Though, the real threat will be the other tributes. You’ve chosen to ally yourself with 2, but not 4.” Kory nodded. “I suggest reconsidering that in the arena; any and all help is invaluable. Just make sure that you’re able to cut ties when the time comes.”

“How did you pick your allies?” She asked.

“Well, you have to be able to think on your feet, and pick allies according to the needs and challenges that arise in the arena. District 2 and 4 had taken the cornucopia, so after surviving the bloodbath, Constantine and I decided to ally ourselves with District 11. Their knowledge of agriculture helped us not starve.” 

“And you gained their trust?” Kory asked. “The other districts don’t seem too keen to ally themselves with us.” _Or even the other Careers,_ she thought, remembering Tula and Kaldur.

“It was hard to get the other districts to trust us at first, but eventually we formed an uneasy truce. Of course, not having District 2 and 4 with us helped things along,” She swallowed. “With Constantine, the trust was already there.”

Kory remembered John Constantine. He was a tall cocky boy, with scruffy blonde hair and a flippant attitude. It had come down to him and Zatanna in the end. Kory’s voice was hesitant, “Was it hard to kill him?”

Zatanna was silent for a moment, and when she spoke her voice was pained, “It was the hardest thing I’ve had to do in my life.” 

.

The walk back to the floor where they were staying was quick. Pushing open the door to the suite, Kory made her way over to the living room, sinking down on the sofa. She let out a sigh of contentment, rolling her shoulders to relieve some of the tension that had accumulated there. She had a few hours to relax and decompress before the interviews that evening. Perhaps she would do some yoga.

The sound of the door opening disturbed her from her thoughts, and she glanced over to see Klarion walking in. His usual smirk was gone, replaced with a slight frown and a creased brow.

“I assume training went well?” She called out to him. His frown deepened to a scowl.

“Nabu is an incompetent oaf.” He snarled, walking over to where she sat and throwing himself onto the sofa. “He was trying to explain _my_ powers to me, as if that outdated fool would understand.”

“I’m surprised you lasted as long as you did with him. I would’ve thought you’d storm out within the first hour.”

Klarion gave her an unamused look, which she smiled at.

“He wouldn’t let me leave until he was convinced I _respected the importance of order in the mystic arts.”_ His voice took on a mocking tone.

“And was he convinced?”

Klarion smirked. “After I was through with him he was.”

Kory rolled her eyes, already accustomed to his antics. “It sounds like you need some stress relief.” She commented.

“Big displays of magic tend to be frowned upon here, so I’m all out of relaxing activities.”

“Well, I was going to do some yoga, you’re welcome to join me.” She invited.

He made a face at that. “No-o. I’m not in the mood to _stretch_.” He said the last word as if it had personally insulted him. He stood up then, presumably to go off and do whatever chaotic thing a witch-boy did usually. Kory felt a smile tug at her lips as she watched him go.

She stood up then too, pulling her arms up above her head and stretching out her muscles. She looked forward to spending the next couple hours stretching and relaxing.

.

That evening, Kory was standing in the dressing room, mirrors surrounding her on all sides. The dress was even more stunning on her. The deep purple contrasted nicely against her golden orange skin.

Bea had been right, she felt like a warrior princess. The added armor gave an imposing feel to the outfit, and the softness of the fabric and the colour made her feel regal. She couldn’t help but twirl a little in the dress. The bottom of the skirt and the cape swirled out gorgeously, and she let out a giggle as she spun.

Once all the pieces were in place, Bea came up with a purple armband and fastened it onto each of Kory’s biceps.

At Kory’s questioning look, she explained. “This was pretty last minute, but I think they add something nice, don’t you?”

“Everything you come up with is gorgeous Bea.” Kory assured her.

“I can’t take the credit this time, it was Tora’s idea.” Kory knew that Bea’s girlfriend Tora was also a designer, hoping to work alongside Bea on District 1 next year, so she wasn’t surprised.

“I’ll make sure to tell Tora thanks when I see her this evening then.”

Once Kory’s hair had been styled - loose and tumbling past her shoulders, down her back - and the headpiece had been put on, Beatriz cupped Kory’s face with both her hands, looking directly into Kory’s eyes.

“I believe in you, _meu amor_.” Her eyes filled with love, and the utter confidence she projected made Kory feel cherished. “You go out there, and you wow them like I know you can.”

“Thank you Bea.” She let out an exhale and smiled. She was excited!

After some finishing touches, Kory was led to the door, waiting to be let out to line up with her fellow tributes. Beatriz arranged the skirts behind Kory, just in time for the doors to slide open.

“And make sure to show off my dress!” Bea called after Kory, laughing.

As she made her way to the front of the line where she’d be expected to stand, she saw a few of the other tributes already in line. Victor, was wearing a shiny metallic silver suit with a black shirt underneath, the first 3 buttons unbuttoned. He looked surprisingly calm, his hands tucked into his pant pockets, and when Kory caught his eye he smiled. 

The boy from 6 had his eyes practically glued to Kory’s chest, and she had to suppress a smile at that. She did brush her hand against his arm while passing him by, and was rewarded with a stutter and his face turning the same shade of red as his hair. 

When she reached the front of the line, she saw her allies from 2. Tommy and Tuppence were wearing matching outfits of all white damask. To the untrained eye they looked unbothered and confident. Kory, however, could see Tommy tugging at the bottom of his suit jacket with a small grimace, and Tuppence’s fingers clenching and unclenching and moving up and down the corset she was wearing, as if itching to take it off. 

Kory turned then, swishing her hair over her shoulder, and caught the District 3 male tribute staring at her. He looked good in his suit, his jacket a teal blue with yellow detailing on the wrists and collar. His shirt was a matching yellow, and he had an adorable dark blue bow tie. She gave him a small smile, and was delighted to see his cheeks warm to a soft pink tinge.

Klarion took that moment to saunter over to where she was standing. He had on a dark blue velvet blazer that reached the back of his knees. Underneath the blazer, he had on a silver satin shirt with the top 3 buttons undone. His pants were plain black, and his black shoes were embellished with silver metal, which made a clicking sound as he tapped his feet.

Once all the tributes were in place, they were instructed to walk up to the stage and take their seats at the back, in the arc of stools. 

She could practically feel the tension and nerves emanating from the other tributes. The lights came up and distantly she could hear Cat Grant warming up the crowd. A rush came over her, as it always did when she was in front of a crowd.

Kory wasn’t nervous. She’d been training for this for the past 7 years. She was in her element now, and she was ready to win the people’s hearts.

“Let’s have a big round of applause for our first tribute, Miss Koriand’r Anala!”

She walked out to centre stage, her dress swishing as she walked, a playful grin on her lips. The screams coming from the crowd were deafening- she could even spot some people crying. Cat greeted her with an air kiss on either cheek, before stepping back to fawn over her dress.

“You just look incredible!” She gushed, “Just so exotic!”

Kory didn’t let her smile tighten at the ‘exotic’ comment, but it was a close thing. "The dress was done by my amazing stylist, Beatriz da Costa!" Kory pointed her out in the crowd and she stood, grinning and waving to the crowd, even throwing kisses. Though she was only 23 she was rapidly turning into one of the most sought after fashion designers in the Capitol.

Cat motioned for her to sit then. Making sure her dress wouldn’t get creased, she delicately sat down on the armchair.

“Tell me, darling, how have you found your time in the Capitol so far?” 

“It’s not that different from District 1.” She told Cat, pitching her voice low like she was sharing a secret.

“Oh, in what way?”

“Well, the architecture is similar. The shape of the buildings, the materials. Of course, everything here is a lot brighter. It’s a lot more colorful! It’s so lively, and bright.” She looked out at the crowd. “I really love the energy of the city- there’s a vibe here that’s unlike anything I’ve seen.”

“Well, we’re just so pleased you’re enjoying our city. Aren’t we folks?” She was answered by a cheer from the crowd.

They exchanged a few more words about the Capitol, Kory making sure to weave in compliments about the crowd. 

“Of course, meeting the other tributes has been interesting too.” Kory transitioned easily. “It’s been fascinating getting to know people with such different life experiences and, at the same time, realizing just how much we all have in common. There’s something to learn from every single one of them. We’re not all that different when you get down to it.”

The last sentence caused the audience to break into shocked whispering. It was almost taboo to speak of such things; the districts had been kept separate by the Capitol for years, and when past tributes or victors had dared to intermingle too openly, they’d been dealt with swiftly and harshly. However, Kory wasn’t here not to make ripples.

Cat had a tight smile on her face. “We all know every District brings something to the table to make Panem great, and I’m sure that reflects on the tributes, right?”

Kory had to be amazed at how easily Cat had turned her words into something Capitol-friendly. “Of course.” She said, leaving it at that.

“And now that you’ve met the other tributes, what will your strategy be for the games? Are you prepared to go all the way?”

“I’m ready to do anything to win.” She paused, for effect. A playful smile on her lips. “You’ll just have to keep an eye on me in the arena to see what I’ll do.”

She stood up to roaring applause, giving the crowd a small curtsey and blowing them kisses before turning and walking back to her seat at the back of the stage.

Cat called over Klarion then, and he swaggered over to the front. 

He turned to the audience and there was an audible gasp; there were even several screams. He had his back to Kory and the other tributes, but she could see on the screens that he was using magic to warp his facial features and scare the audience. He laughed it off, waving a hand at the crowd.

“That was just _terrifying!_ ” Cat’s voice was positively shrill.

“Trust me, that’s nothing compared to what I can do.” Klarion assured her.

“Oooooh, do show us!” She turned to the crowd and got them chanting, _‘Show us! Show us!’_

With a twinkle of his fingers, golden sparkles floated down from the ceiling, forming a miniature replica of the packed auditorium where they were congregated. The gold shifted to red and then to purple, and then it exploded into fireworks. Kory noticed that though the sparkles shifted and moved, they stayed close to him. She wondered if he was trying to hide the full extent of the limitations of the collar.

He had the audience eating out of the palm of his hand. Kory would almost be surprised at how charming he could be, if she didn’t already know that he’d been trained practically since birth.

As he was interviewed, silver and purple tendrils of magic twirled around his fingers, the light emanating from them casting shadows on his skin. The crowd was transfixed by him, hanging onto his every word.

“And finally, what’s your favorite thing about the Capitol?” Cat asked.

Klarion took a moment, seemingly to ponder the question, but Kory knew it was to soak in the audience’s attention. “Well, it’s never boring. There’s always something interesting happening, you’ve just got to find it.”

“That’s a great description of the Capitol.” Cat told him, then turned back to the audience. “Ladies and Gentlemen, please give it up for Mr Klarion Bleak!”

Amidst the applause, he walked back to his seat. As he dropped into the chair, Kory saw his smirk drop a little. 

She was distracted from Klarion by the sounds of the Terror twins strutting up to the front. As soon as Cat saw them, she started cooing over their matching outfits. Kory barely resisted rolling her eyes. Sure, the twins presented themselves well, but if only Cat knew their real personalities; they were insufferable to work with.

Their pitch was confidence; the kind of blind confidence only a life of luxury would produce. They really milked the twin thing too- not only were they wearing the matching outfits, they also finished each other’s sentences and mimicked each other’s body language. 

They talked about their parents, and how proud they were of them for volunteering. Mentioning their mentors, their already stiff answers became even more obviously rehearsed.

“It’s an honor to work alongside them. We’re hoping to follow in the footsteps of previous District 2 victors, and continue the long legacy of greatness.” This time, Kory couldn’t hold back her eye roll. She wished, yet again, that she didn’t have to have them as her allies; they were truly unbearable.

“So I’m assuming that means you’re ready for the Games.” 

“Absolutely.” Tommy answered immediately. He was arrogant, brash, and utterly, _infuriatingly_ bull-headed. 

Tuppence cut in, her country charm almost sickeningly sweet. “There ain’t no one more prepared than we are, Cat. We’re goin’ all the way to the top.”

“Our strategy is strength-” Tommy started.

“- and brute force.” Tuppence finished for him.

“We’ll get you before you get us!” They chorused together.

Kory could tell from the minute raise of Cat’s eyebrow that she wasn’t fully buying what the twins were selling. 

_Maybe not all the Capitolites were morons_ , Kory thought sardonically.

Kory let herself stop focusing so much on what the tributes were saying, since most of the answers were manufactured, as how they were saying it; their tone, their body language, their tics. 

The District 3 female tribute - Barbara Gordon - was quick witted and smart. She looked stunning in her deep green gown, and was the very picture of maturity and poise. 

She talked openly about her father and his support. “He taught me the true meaning of bravery. I will never be able to fully express how much he means to me.” Kory could feel the sincerity in her tone.

Kory noticed that she was slightly subdued, despite her responses. It was mostly unnoticeable, but there was an undercurrent of discomfort to all her movements. Kory didn’t quite know if it was because she wasn’t used to having an audience of this size or if it was something else. Some sort of resentment towards the Capitol… 

When Cat asked her if she found her training score to be fair Kory was surprised at how deftly Barbara handled the reply.It was a trick question, since no tribute could call out the Gamemakers; or at least no one could do it and hope to stay alive in the arena, or keep their family alive. But Barbara answered it well - diplomatically and humbly, she stated that the Gamemakers always had their reasons and whatever they were she wasn’t going to question them- and Kory was impressed. The Capitol audience ate it up too. 

Then came the boy from 3, Richard Grayson. “Please, call me Dick.” He told Cat when she introduced him. He was more animated than his district partner, moving his hands while he talked. It was endearing.

He was witty, and charming, answering all the questions just right. 

“Now, it’s my understanding that you are somewhat famous, back in District 3. Is that true, _Boy Wonder_?” 

Dick let out a short laugh, as if self-conscious. “I think ’famous’ is a bit of an overstatement, Cat.”

“Oh, you, don’t be modest!” Cat twirled her fingers in a dismissive hand gesture, leaning forward in her seat. “The Flying Graysons made quite the name for themselves, back in the day.”

His eyes turned sad, but there was still a small smile on his face. “My parents were immensely talented, and they were the sweetest people I knew. The circus gave me the happiest childhood I could’ve asked for.” At Cat’s prompting, he went on to talk about being taken in by his mentor, and father, Bruce Wayne. 

It was only when he was asked about his brother, Jason, that his smile faded. He recovered quickly, but Kory could still see the underlying sadness still on his face. He talked about his brother, describing their relationship. He told Cat that he’d volunteered to save his little brother from the arena.

Despite the sad ending of his interview, Cat was a professional, and she transitioned seamlessly into the next interview with a flourish.

Tula looked sweet and demure in her dress. She was kind, with a lively energy about her. She was going for innocent, and it would’ve been easy to fall for it if Kory hadn’t known her. In contrast, Kaldur was mature and composed. When asked about his life back home in District 4, his answer was eloquent and heartfelt. He talked for a bit about one of the previous victors from his district, his friend Garth. Every answer he gave felt honest.

The girl from 5 - M’gann M’orzz - was bubbly and upbeat. She was quick enough to keep up with Cat, talking about the Capitol and the things she liked about it. She even had her own catchphrase - “He _llo_ Megan!" - which she’d pepper in to the conversation every so often. It was sure to stick in the audience’s heads.

Victor was next, and Kory was eager to see what tactics he’d use in his interview. He was charismatic and held the audience’s attention easily. Kory was almost surprised at how open he was being; back in training she’d had to push a little to get him to relax around her. She liked this side of him, and suddenly wished that she’d met him back in District 1, rather than under these circumstances.

The girl from District 6, Traci Thurston, was quiet, taking her time to open up. Her first few answers were almost blurted out, and there was a glint of fear in her eyes that tugged at Kory’s heartstrings. But then Cat asked her the right questions to get her talking and she blossomed. A smile spread across her face, and she was positively enthusiastic.

The boy from 6, who Kory learned was called Wallace West - “Call me Wally,” - was charming, funny and a complete motormouth. He didn’t take any time to stop and think about his answers, but he also didn’t have any obvious missteps, and Cat was delighted at interviewing someone who seemingly had no filter. She got him talking about his mentors, who were among some of the fan favorite victors, and then even had him tell her his opinions on the rest of the tributes. He was polite and didn’t name anyone directly, but he clearly _had_ opinions he’d be dying to share in less public circumstances. 

After him was Donna Troy, the female tribute from District 7, who looked devastatingly beautiful in her dress. She appeared calm and stoic, but she spoke in a warm voice, relaxed and unfazed as Cat asked her questions. 

“I am fighting for my people. This is about more than just me. This is about all of us. This is _for_ all of us.” Donna said at some point, and there was something in her tone that made Kory feel like there was a deeper meaning to the words that she wasn’t quite grasping. Her voice had taken on a different intensity, and she was looking straight at the camera. “I want everyone in my district to know how moved I was by their show of love. If there’s anything I’ve learned from them, it’s courage.”

There was a short, heavy silence after that, before Donna stood up without being dismissed by Cat. She bowed gracefully, and Cat called her next interviewee.

In contrast, her district partner had a nervous tic, and snapped his fingers the entire interview. His answers were hesitant, though he did try to lighten the interview with a few jokes – they didn’t exactly land, but Cat did her best to play off of them. In the end, he seemed relieved when he walked back to the stools and sat down next to Donna, who gave him a reassuring smile. 

The next tribute, Mary Bromfield from District 8, was quiet and polite, without saying much. Still, there was a slight forcefulness to her voice that didn’t let Kory shrug her off as just another young, nice girl. She got a few tears out of the crowd when she described what it had been like to say goodbye to all of her five younger siblings, some of them so young they didn’t understand why their big sister was leaving them. 

The boy from her district was so forgettable, Kory barely even remembered his name. (It was Simon Jones; she was a professional after all, and she prided herself on remembering all of her competition, no matter how boring.) He gave standard answers to standard questions, and the interview quickly moved on. 

From District 9, the female tribute was called Kara Zor-El – she wore her Kryptonian last name proudly, earning at least some of Kory’s respect. She acted a bit loud and a bit cocky, but couldn’t completely hide her sweetness. She immediately struck Kory as a very caring person – the kind that would refuse to leave someone behind in the arena. It would be admirable if it couldn’t so easily be turned into a liability. 

The boy from 9’s answers were monosyllabic, and he was practically grunting them. He took none of the cues that Cat was giving him, and instead sat glaring at the crowd, face sullen. Cat’s face almost betrayed her annoyance at him; her smile was just a little too tight. And then, just as she was about to ask him another question, something very strange happened. 

For a second, Cat seemed to get distracted, tilting her head to one side as if she was listening to something. The interviewer seemed so spontaneous that, up until now, Kory hadn’t even thought about how she probably was fed questions through an earpiece – but of course the Capitol wouldn’t relinquish control over such an influential moment. Her expression suddenly flickered, eyes sparkling with mischievousness and pure delight, the corners of her lips delicately upturned and one eyebrow raised.

“So, tell me, Conner, what’s your connection to President Luthor?”

The boy was good at containing his reaction, but not good enough for Kory to miss it. Somehow it was both panicked and angry. He was silent for a second too long, prompting whispers from the crowd, and causing Cat to look satisfied.

When the boy still didn’t answer – his eyes seemed to be staring into nothing, probably trying to think of the best possible answer –, Cat continued. “A little birdie told me your _birth_ might not have been the most… natural, to put it one way. What’s your connection to President Luthor, and to your mentor, Clark Kent?”

At the mention of Kent, the whispers of the crowd grew even louder, barely whispers anymore. “Clark is… someone close to me. He’s like my brother. I’m very glad to have him as a mentor. And Lex is… a distant relative.”

Cat’s lips turned into an even bigger smile. “‘Lex’, you call him?” From most people, calling the President ‘Lex’ was considered disrespectful. Traitorous, even. Conner flinched, and it was noticeable because of how tightly he was holding himself. He didn’t look scared of possible repercussions, however – he seemed mad at himself, possibly for giving something away. Kory started feeling nervous for the boy. 

“Sorry. President Luthor.” He didn’t elaborate, which couldn’t be good for him, as Cat Grant didn’t seem like the kind of person to back down when she had set her mind to something. 

She leaned in even further, her smile unforgiving. “If I were to ask you about your parents, what would you answer?”

“I- I don’t-“ He clenched his fists, looking as if he was trying to set his thoughts in order. “My parents are Martha and Jonathan Kent.”

“Hmm.” She pretended to consider it, though Kory guessed she knew exactly where she was leading him. “That might be true, but it’s not the complete truth, is it?”

The time for his interview had run out, but nobody urged Cat to move on to the next person. Nobody dared to. The audience had grown silent; some confused, some still whispering to each other, some holding their breath. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Conner said in a monotone.

Cat considered him for a moment.

“There’s no use in beating around the bush here, is there?” Her voice had turned almost deadly. “We’ve all noticed _just_ how similar you look to your mentor, Clark.” She let that linger in the air, before going in for the kill.

“Do you think it’s fair for the other tributes that you’re a clone of one of our most powerful victors and, on top of that, a genius like our President?”

The full meaning of the words took a moment to sink in. Kory was reeling at what had just been exposed. Conner’s expression reflected a similar feeling. Kory wondered whether he knew about his heritage beforehand, or if he was just shocked at having it said on live television. None of those scenarios seemed like something particularly pleasant to go through. 

Cat had a smug grin on her face, like the cat that ate the canary. She’d just broken the story of a lifetime. 

“No comment?” She sounded almost mocking.

Kory saw Conner grit his teeth and raise his head to stare her down before replying, tone defiant. “No.” 

With that, Cat dismissed Conner with a simple, “Thank you for your time.”

Instead of walking back to his seat with the other tributes he stormed off the stage, clenching and unclenching his fists as he went, looking ready to explode.

After that bombshell was dropped the audience could hardly contain themselves. The rest of the tributes barely stood a chance. While Cat did her best to help reign in the crowd, and give the other tributes a fair shot, the people’s attention was still firmly focused on the enticing tidbits of information that had been forced out into the open. 

Despite herself, for the remainder of the night Kory’s gaze kept being pulled over to Conner’s empty chair. She didn’t know if he’d be able to overcome this scandal, and the time to weather it had come to an end.

_**After.** _

**The President.**

He was standing in his lab, twirling his kryptonite ring around his finger. The noise of the door behind him sliding open alerted him to the other man’s presence.

“You wished to see me, Mr President.” Count Vertigo was a tall, thin man, overly concerned with appearances over substance, covering himself with garish displays of wealth. The President prefered simplicity. He was rarely seen in anything other than a black suit, monochromatic, the only hint of color coming from his ring. He had no need to prove his power or wealth through his clothes; there was not a soul alive in Panem who didn’t know that he was the most powerful man in the nation. “Is this about the kid?”

The President wasted no time with pleasantries, ignoring the other man’s question. “Our plan is working.”

The other man straightened up slightly, knowing the President was not to be interrupted.

“The rumors of the rebel forces being amongst the pool of victors seem to be true, which is why we targeted them all. Their reactions have been what we expected. They’re good, doing everything in their power to not show their inner turmoil. But we’re better.” He paused again. “The victors have gotten too confident. Too _arrogant_. Taking their children away from them will take some of their avarice with them.”

“You’re talking about the Justice League.” Vertigo stated. It wasn’t a question.

The President gave him a look. The other man seemed to shrink under his piercing gaze. 

“Nevertheless, this should force them to fast track their plans to help their _precious_ children, thus leaving them vulnerable to mistakes and countermeasures. Perhaps even divide them, forcing them to pick their tributes over their friendships. They are nothing more than victors who think themselves more powerful than they are - without each other, they are nothing.

“I need you to take whoever in your team isn’t already preoccupied with the mentors to scout out the districts for the rest of the victors.” The President turned to face Vertigo. “I cannot stress the importance of staying under the radar enough. It’s imperative we keep everything from the public; they can not know about any unrest in the districts. The system is a delicate balance and we must not upset it.”

The President moved to stand in front of a screen, waving his hand in front of it making it light up. The screens showed a map of Panem. District 7 was lit up in red warning lights, each dot marking a rebellious disaster.

“We were able to contain the…. incident to District 7 only, and thus far the news about this hasn’t left the district. We must do something soon though, as lumber production has been halted as a result. The sooner everything gets back to normal, the less we have to worry about the other districts catching wind of this.”

“Understood. We’ll leave at once.” The other man turned to leave. The President let him reach the door.

“Vertigo.” He called out, watching him stop in front of the door and turn back.

“No matter where you go, there will always be Light.”

**Artemis.**

The moment she set foot in her room, Artemis ripped her dress off, feeling satisfaction at hearing the seams rip. 

She was furious. 

She’d spent all day with her stupid escort learning the _correct interview ettiquete_ and other bullshit; Dinah had come around midday to rescue her from the escort, but by then the damage to Artemis’ mood had already been done. All that work, only to be upstaged by the _brute_ from District 9. 

He’d barely said anything of substance all interview long, answers monosyllabic and delivered with a scowl; Artemis was sure her escort would’ve had some choice words to say to him. And despite all his failures at the interview, the surprise revelation at the end was _all anyone was talking about_. So yeah, she was angry. 

She couldn't _believe_ she’d ever found him attractive. Well, actually, that was a lie. He was very attractive, the spitting image of his mentor, but that didn't stop her from being angry at the sight of him.

She sat down on her bed with a thud. It was hitting her that this had been her last moment to make an impression before the games. This was it. And unless she pulled a miracle out of her ass tomorrow in the arena, she might’ve lost her chance to impress any potential sponsors. Of course, it wasn’t her fault, but it still rankled. 

She suddenly felt homesick. Having Ollie and Dinah here with her helped immensely, but she couldn’t help but long for the comfort of her mom’s hugs, or her sister’s tough love. Artemis’ heart hurt at the thought of her sister, feeling guilty that she was here with Roy while Jade was back home worrying about them both.

Yet there was nothing she could do about it except wait and see what the arena would bring.

**Roy.**

_Well_ , Roy thought, _that had been a colossal waste of time._

He reclined back on the sofa he was sitting on, next to Ollie and Dinah. 

“You’re going to have to rely on yourself in the arena. Of course, we’re going to do everything in our power to help you.” Ollie’s voice was thick with emotion, cracking on the last word. 

“We both won our games without sponsors.” Dinah interjected, reaching out to take Roy’s hand in hers, Ollie grasping her other hand like a lifeline. “You can do it too. It is possible.”

Roy was suddenly struck with the realisation that he might never see Ollie or Dinah again. He tried to ignore the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach as they spent the next few hours talking about anything and everything. He wanted to savor this moment with them, but time was running out and it got late all too soon.

“Get some rest, son.” Ollie advised, clapping a hand on his shoulder. He grabbed Ollie’s other hand, squeezing it tightly. 

“Love you too,” he told the older man as he reluctantly stood up from the sofa. He paused before adding, “Thanks. For everything.”

With that, he made his way into his room.

He loosened his tie before pulling it off and dropping it on the floor, shrugged off the blazer and moved to unbutton his shirt. He threw those on the floor too.

Stripped down to his boxers, he fell into bed, exhausted down to his bones. He was ready for all of this to be over, all the fakeness and the plastic-ness of the whole place and the simpering Capitolites. He was almost anticipating the games – even if it was just to leave this place. At least in the arena there would be no false pleasantries and mincing words. 

Though, the games came with a whole host of other complications. He wished he was back home. If he closed his eyes, he could pretend he was back in District 12. 

He remembered the last night he’d spent there. The night before the reaping, he’d been with Jade. She was a welcome escape when the Queen-Lance residence became too much. Of course, she wasn’t always the easiest to deal with, but when she was by his side he felt like he was floating

He fell asleep thinking of the softness of her skin, the smell of her hair and the way he’d felt beside her.

**Conner.**

_Crash._

A broken chair.

_Boom._

The coffee table.

Before he could pick up anything else, he was stopped by a hand coming down on his shoulder.

“Breathe.” 

“ _Don’t_ tell me what to do.” He spat out.

Clark’s hold loosened on his shoulder, but he didn’t move away. Conner did try to follow his advice, taking a few deep breaths. It barely made a difference. 

“I just- I never thought- How could he let them find out?”

Suddenly, Clark pulled his hand back like the touch burned him. “It’s my fault.” 

That managed to make Conner’s lashing out stop right in its tracks. “What?” 

Clark was shaking his head. “I confronted him. I shouldn’t have. I _knew_ I shouldn’t have, but I needed to get confirmation on what I’d heard– nothing he does should surprise me anymore but I thought, if anything, _you_ were an exception to his obsession with power. Clearly he proved me wrong.”

Conner just stood there, still angry but too confused to do anything else. Clark must have caught on to his confusion, because he stopped pacing and his eyes found Conner’s.

“I know you’re aware that he’s dangerous, but you can’t ever, ever trust him. This wasn’t a mistake. Lex let this come out on purpose. To hurt you, and me.”

He could feel the heat of the anger filling his chest again. He clenched his fists. “Why?”

“Because he needs the upper hand. I uncovered an advantage he had, and he’s making you pay.” There was a beat. “There’s something you should know. It might impact you on the Games.”

“And you’re telling me the night before?” Conner’s voice was controlled. So far.

Clark looked away. “Creating you wasn’t enough for Lex. He needs to know he can control everything, including you. So he made sure of that. When he… made you… he implanted a codeword that activates something in your brain that will let him… use you.”

Everything that had been building up inside him burst out then. “You… you’ve known this? How could you not tell me?!” His voice had risen to a yell and he was too angry to do anything about it.

Clark’s eyes were wide. “I just found out a few days ago – we’ve been doing everything we can to find out how to reverse it, and there’s so much on your plate already that adding something like this… when there was nothing you could do, when it’d only make you worry…”

“I deserved to know.” His words were trembling. 

Clark sighed. “I didn’t want to come to you with more problems than answers. I would’ve never let it get to a point where it could hurt you. What happened with Lex… I’m sorry, Conner.” His expression turned determined. “I’ll make him regret it. He won’t hurt you.”

The honesty in Clark’s voice made Conner’s anger drain out of him, and he walked to the sofa - which had been left unscathed by his outburst - and slumped down, putting his head in his hands. He remembered Clark’s advice from before. Breathe.

His mind was clearer by the time he felt a weight settle on the sofa next to him, and Clark’s arm wrapped tentatively around his shoulder.

**Donna.**

She’d been chewing on her nails since she’d gotten back to her room. Her mind was a mess of thoughts, all overlapping and vying for her attention.

The images of her people raising their fists for her and the rage on their faces were fresh in her mind. The sound of the screams rang loud in her ears. She felt cut off from her district, miles away and unable to do anything to help them.

She was desperate for more news about what had happened, but it was impossible. Nobody was talking about it, and nobody seemed to know. She’d tried asking Diana about it, but was shut down almost immediately. Diana’s eyes had shifted around the room frantically, despite her trying her best to disguise it. Donna remembered Diana’s hushed words too.

“Don’t speak of this to anyone else. Promise me Donna.”

Donna trusted Diana, and knew she was only trying to protect her, but still, she couldn’t leave it alone. Sitting down in the privacy of her room, she’d put on the reaping playback. The broadcast was cut right after the war cry, but the Capitol commentators passed it off as ‘ _Just one of those District 7 quirks_!’. No other Capitol news site she could access mentioned it; if anything, their complete silence on anything related to District 7 was telling.

She couldn’t keep quiet either, if her interview had been anything to go by. She worried that she might’ve added fuel to the fire with her comments, but she’d just wanted to let the people in her district know that she understood what they had done for her. That she appreciated them.

How would her district react if she lost, she wondered. Would there be riots? And what if she won, what would happen then? Would they still be so angry?

There was one thing she knew about the Amazons: once that first spark was ignited, the fire couldn’t be contained. 

**Wally.**

All in all, his interview had gone great. The crowd laughed at his jokes, they seemed to enjoy his back and forth with Cat Grant, and he’d even gotten some _awww_ s when he’d talked about Barry. Sure, he kinda wished that the boy from 9 hadn’t stolen his thunder, but Wally was confident that there were at least a few people in the audience who could become potential sponsors for him.

It didn’t hurt to be positive.

He was in a good mood, all things considered, which meant he was itching to do something – as usual. As he walked past the living room on his way to the kitchen, he spotted Traci sitting on the sofa talking to Barry. They didn’t look like their conversation was too personal, so he took a detour to get three pudding cups and spoons from the kitchen and went to join them.

“I come bearing gifts,” he announced, giving each a cup. Traci’s eyes lit up, and Barry accepted his offering happily as well. 

“We were just discussing the interviews,” he let Wally know. “You both did great, I’m sure Jay and I won’t have too much trouble getting you at least a few sponsors.” 

“That’s good to hear.” He was relieved; he’d been optimistic, but Barry wouldn’t say that if it wasn’t true. “Hey, maybe you’ll have enough to send me one of those skip ball things for when I get bored in the arena.”

Traci rolled her eyes, and Barry huffed an almost-laugh that Wally counted as a win. 

“Do you have everything prepared for tomorrow?” asked Barry, setting down the finished pudding cup on the coffee table.

Wally’s gaze turned to Traci, who was swirling the pudding with her spoon and looking back at him with doubt written all over her face. They hadn’t talked about alliances, but in that moment Wally felt very protective of the 12-year-old girl.

He didn’t want to leave her to compete alone in the games, and he knew his mom would be proud of him helping his district partner.

“We’re prepared as long as we stick together.” He answered Barry, while still looking at her. “If you want,” he quickly added just in case he’d read her wrong.

She nodded enthusiastically. “Yeah.”

Barry looked between the two of them – was that pride when he looked at Wally? – and settled back on the sofa.

“Then let’s plan.”

**Victor.**

He could hear muffled voices drifting through the open door. The first voice was his mentor, Ted. The second voice sounded slightly tinny, and belonged to someone he couldn’t recognise.

He came across Ted sitting at the dining table, a WayneTech tablet in hand. The voice Victor hadn’t recognised was coming out of the tablet’s speakers.

“I know. I’m working on it now,” Ted said in response, gesturing to the spare parts on the table next to him. “It’s getting late back in 5, I’ll let you get to sleep.”

“I love you Teddy.” 

“I love you too, babe.” He hung up the call then and looked up, giving Victor a smile. 

Vic spared a moment to speculate on the mysterious ‘babe’. 

“I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to interrupt you.”

Ted shook his head, “Don’t apologise. What’s going on?”

“I uh…” Vic looked down at his hands.

Ted smiled at him. “Can’t sleep, huh?” He patted the seat next to him, as an invitation.

“What’re you working on?” He asked as he sat down. The pieces were all familiar to Vic individually, he just couldn’t put together what they were for.

Ted opened his mouth as if he was about to say something, then closed it before answering: “Nothing special.” 

Vic raised an eyebrow at him. “Okay then, don’t tell me.” Ted looked up long enough to smile at him, and Vic smiled back before teasing him, “I didn’t want to know anyway.”

They fell silent for a moment, before Vic spoke again.

“Did you feel this way the night before your games?” He asked, thoughts swirling around his head.

“This way?” Ted probed. 

Vic huffed out a laugh. “Sorry, I should’ve clarified my thoughts. Feeling like you’re going to throw up and you can’t catch your breath, all at the same time.”

“Kid, I feel like that all the time.” 

“So how do you deal with it?” Vic asked again.

“Nervous breakdowns every second Sunday.” Ted deadpanned, before turning serious again. “It’s different for everyone. I try to focus on my breathing. Recite the periodic table in my head until the feeling lets up. You just have to find what works for you.”

“And you still get like that even after all these years?”

“After the games…” He trailed off. He picked up a small circuit board, turning it around a few times, lost in thought. “It doesn’t stop being hard. But when I’m in my lab, making things again - designing - then I feel like myself again.”

**M’gann.**

The bottle on the bedside table was mocking her. She furrowed her brows and focused intently on making it move; it only wobbled precariously before falling on its side. 

She let out a petulant huff. She’d been practicing everyday after training, trying to figure out just how much of her powers had been left to her. The results hadn’t exactly been what she wanted, but they could’ve been worse. 

Hovering in place, she tried floating over to her bed. It felt like she was controlling her flight using a wonky remote control. She sighed and lowered her feet to the ground again. If only she didn’t have the power inhibitor, the games would be a lot easier.

Changing quickly into her pyjamas, she walked over to the open window, leaning her head out to feel the soft breeze. She tried to make an inventory of all the abilities she still had. She could use her telekinesis to move objects if she concentrated hard enough, but she’d be vulnerable if she tried that in the arena. Her shape shifting was limited to voice mimicry, and her camouflage made her look like a foggy window pane rather than invisible. 

Moving over to the bed, she pulled back the covers and climbed inside. Her strength was still there, but it had been lowered considerably. And her telepathy was down to just feeling other people’s emotions, only if she was within a certain distance of them – and even then, it was like the volume had been turned down. 

Which is why it was so strange that she could sense Conner’s feelings so clearly. He'd been projecting anger, and fear, so loudly that she could feel it all the way from across the stage. When he left the stage, it felt like she could still see him in her mind’s eye, across the hallway and up the stairs. She was surprised at the ferocity of his emotions. He must have had some _serious_ inner turmoil for her to be feeling it even from this distance.

She shot up in her bed, slapping her forehead with her hand. Hello, Megan! If her powers worked better when emotions were running high, then that could be an advantage in the arena, where fear and rage and despair would be amplified. 

Maybe she wouldn’t be so lost, after all. 

**Kaldur.**

“I can’t believe something like this could be possible. Conner always seemed so… normal.”

That was the issue, maybe: he _had_ been normal. Average height, and average features - that Cat was right in that they looked so uncannily similar to Clark Kent's, even after Kaldur knew the reason why. Kept to himself, talking to no one but his District partner, a frown adorning his face more often than he probably realised. Irrationally, something within Kaldur protested that no one that looked that normal could be the result of such an… experiment. Perhaps that was why, despite logic telling him to distrust Conner, the only thing he felt about him was intrigue. 

Arthur was silent, a slight frown on his face. “First impressions can be deceiving.” He said, though he looked like his thoughts were elsewhere. 

Thoughts driven away from Conner Kent and to his mentor's peculiar behavior, Kaldur prodded: “What’s on your mind?” 

With a slow shake of his head, Arthur’s eyes focused on the present again. “Nothing you need to concern yourself with,” he said not unkindly. Then, swiftly shifting the conversation away from himself, added: "Conner is not the tribute you should be concerning yourself with, either."

Kaldur knew what would come next, and almost dreaded the question.

“More important than him, have you been able to repair things with the tributes from 1 and 2? Allies of that caliber, and their sponsors, can be a great asset in the arena.” 

Kaldur sighed. “Things have been… unpleasant, to say the least.”

The last time he’d spoken to any of them, it had been Tommy Terror and him, alone. Tommy had cornered him before the interviews, trying to intimidate him and act like he was doing him a favor at the same time. He had been so _generous_ , offering to let him back in with them “as long as you ditch the Tula girl.” He’d spat Tula’s name out like it was an insult.

As he recounted it for Arthur, he found himself thinking of how bizarre the whole situation was. “When I rejected the offer he got violent, threatening to find Tula and me in the arena. Considering this, I think it is best to just avoid them completely.”

Kaldur paused then, reflecting on the way the other tributes had acted. Arthur patiently waited for him to continue.

“It is more than just their wounded pride. They seem to have a vendetta against Tula, looking down on her for not volunteering. Koriand’r is the only one who doesn’t appear to feel that way, yet she is not enough to turn her allies.” Kaldur squared his shoulders. "I do not regret rejecting them. She would not have been safe there, and I could never leave her for them. I would not be able to forgive myself for leaving her vulnerable to attack."

“So you’re going to protect her.” Arthur’s voice was resigned, but with a hint of pride.

“Yes.” He stated simply, “As she would do for me.”

His mentor smiled, clapping a hand on his shoulder. “I’m so proud of the man you have become.”

**Babs.**

Going into her interview, Barbara didn’t expect she’d be talking so much about her dad. Any time Cat asked her about her District, and then about home, that was where her answers inevitably led her. Now, as she tried and failed to sleep, she couldn’t stop thinking about him. 

She could see Jim Gordon clearly in her mind’s eye. Him sitting at his desk by the window, cigar between his lips, the smoke swirling up before dissipating into the air. She longed to be able to reach out and smooth the crease between his eyebrows, to hug him and feel his comforting presence, to ease some of his worries as he eased hers. She’d give anything to be able to see him again.

Of course, she knew what she’d have to do to be able to see him. She’d been putting off thinking about it as long as possible, but she knew she’d eventually have to think about facing Dick in the arena. What would happen if it came down to the both of them. 

She shook her head; it wouldn’t do to think of that now. She had to focus on finalising her game plan for tomorrow.

She hadn’t been able to speak to Bruce after the interviews, and Dick had been distracted by something else, so the only person she could go over strategy with that night had been Serling. She was nice, if a bit cold. That only meant they’d gotten straight to the point. 

When she told them that Dick and her were planning to stick together, Serling advised her to steer clear of the Cornucopia. The meager supplies they’d be able to get without running straight into the bloodbath weren’t worth the risk; and even if there was something useful among those supplies, they’d be relying on luck. Neither of them liked to rely on luck.

First priority was getting away from the Cornucopia, and making sure they weren’t followed. Second priority was finding water. Food and shelter were on a similar level, but that would depend on the arena. They’d also have to do all of that while adapting to their environment, and finding any way they could use it to their advantage. 

It was hard going into much detail without knowing the specifics of the arena, though. Not having all the information made Babs nervous; she hated feeling out of control. She wouldn’t let that continue any longer. She was determined to make the arena her _bitch_.

**Dick.**

Conner’s interview had been underwhelming up until the last moment, when Cat Grant had revealed his connection to President Luthor. Then the crowd had been overwhelmed by the news, and the noise had been deafening. Underwhelmed, overwhelmed- Dick wondered if anyone could ever just be whelmed. 

Hearing that be exposed finally allowed him to connect some of the dots in his mind, shedding some light on Clark’s concern for the boy and the President’s connection. It tied into what they’d said about control, but there was still something missing, that line Luthor had crossed even _after_ the cloning business. The thing that had made Clark stand up to him. Maybe these were the consequences. 

Their floor was uncomfortably quiet. Babs was speaking with Serling, talking about strategy. They more or less had a plan, but he’d probably have to talk to Babs later to work out the finer details. Having an idea of what they’d do, already, eased some of his anxiety about the next day. They’d be going into this together – he didn’t have to worry about anything that came after, yet.

Bruce had been nowhere to be found right after the interviews. Now, as Dick was sitting at the table on the spot closer to the windows, he burst into the room looking harried. Wordlessly, he walked up to the table to grab an abandoned tablet, and without making eye contact with anyone he went to his room and closed the door behind him.

Whenever Bruce was so obviously distressed, it inevitably affected Dick. He could already feel the tension accumulating on his shoulders as he stared at the closed door. 

Just what he needed the night before the Games. 

With any ideas he might have about interrogating Bruce about Conner thrown out of the window, he shifted his gaze back to the view outside. The Capitol was lit up in bright colors tonight, the celebrations of the Games that were finally upon them busying the streets. 

The sky was clear. It was a beautiful night.

“I’m going for a walk.” He announced to Babs and Serling, barely waiting for their response before following the same way up to the roof he’d found days before. 

Perhaps fresh air was what he needed to remove the tension.

**Kory.**

The lock had broken easily enough when she’d pushed down on the handle. That was the thing about the Capitol, they were arrogant enough to think that they always were the strongest and most powerful around. 

She’d needed to get out of her room, feeling suffocated despite how spacious it was. 

If she’d been worried about the silence, she didn’t have to be anymore. The party had spilled out onto the streets, and their chatter could be heard from the roof as clearly as if they were standing up there with her.

Kory let out a breath, tilting her head back to look at the night sky. The street had been lit up for the party so the stars were obscured by the artificial light. She longed for home, for the night sky with the endless blanket of stars. She felt like a caged bird, trapped in the shining prison that was the Capitol. All she wanted to do was fly away.

She looked down at the crowds of people below on the street, dancing and swirling. Smiles cutting their faces wide open, making them look grotesque and inhuman. 

They almost reminded her of the Gordonians; thriving off of the discomfort and pain of others, taking and taking and taking, not worrying what state the other person would be left in. She was going off to the slaughter tomorrow, and here they were, dancing and screaming and singing and crying out. She almost couldn’t look at them anymore.

The sound of faint footsteps came from behind her, and she turned to see the boy from District 3 - Richard, she recalled - standing there frozen like a deer in the headlights. His bowtie from earlier was undone, hanging loose around his neck, and the top few buttons of his shirt had also been unbuttoned.

“Come sit,” she beckoned him over, patting the space next to her when she saw how he was hovering by the doorway.

He hesitated. “I wouldn’t want to intrude.”

She smiled at that, shaking her head. “Please, I insist. The roof is a public space.” 

“You can’t sleep either?” he asked her.

She shook her head again, “I’m enjoying the view while I can.” She paused for a moment, considering. “I think we’re probably the only tributes to use the roof.”

Richard looked around at the rest of the roof before walking up to where she was sitting. He didn’t sit down. “I don’t get that, why no one comes up here. It’s…”

“Beautiful,” she suggested.

“Yeah.”

“From up here the beauty of the Capitol doesn’t seem so manufactured. You can almost forget how artificial everything is.” She chanced a glance at him, worried she’d said too much. He was looking at her with an indecipherable expression on his face, but when their gazes met he gave her a small smile and sat down on the ledge a few feet away from her.

He leant closer to her and said matter of factly, “I'm Dick Grayson, by the way."

Smiling, she leaned in closer too. "I know.” She said, neglecting to mention that she’d been paying attention to him. “I'm Koriand'r Anala."

"I know." His eyes crinkled, and they shared the smile of two people with an inside joke.

He was the first to break eye contact, sitting back a bit to look out at the city and map the skyline with his eyes. She followed suit and turned to observe the nightlife continuing underneath them.

The silence extended for a few comfortable seconds before she felt him shift beside her, leaning closer to the edge of the roof. His eyes were fixed on one spot, but he didn’t seem to be looking at the city itself anymore. 

When he spoke, it was in a whisper that Kory thought wasn’t directed at her. “There’s a forcefield.”

She’d heard of the Capitol using force fields in the games - knowing everything about the games was mandatory back in District 1 - but she’d never heard of them using one outside of them. 

She spoke in the same hushed tone as him, “Why do you think they put it there?”

Dick shrugged. “They want to contain us? Cage us in?”

“Perhaps a tribute tried to jump in the past,” she supplied. “That could be why it’s so hard to get up here.” 

“It’s hard to have games without tributes,” he agreed, voice dry. She couldn’t help but notice how fast his moods seemed to shift. In their short conversation he’d gone from closed off and wary, to warm and friendly, to somber and serious. “It’s not as entertaining if we die before they can capitalize off of it.”

His tone was biting and cold, and Kory was surprised by his intensity. She shook her head. “Battles should be fought for a cause. This, however, is… meaningless, for nothing but the enjoyment of others.”

His head snapped to look at her, surprise written across his face for the second time that evening. He turned his body fully, angling himself to better observe her. He was looking at her as if reconsidering her. She saw his gaze drop down to her neck where the collar had been inserted. She wondered if he could see the faint light emanating from the chips. 

The first time she’d realised the collars emitted a soft glow, she’d been preparing for bed and spotting them in the mirror had made her frown. Having a glowing light coming from her neck was a possible liability in the games. Her only comfort was that it was faint enough to be near invisible unless you were standing right in front of her. 

Just like Dick was now, she realised. His eyes were incredibly blue, the type of blue that was easy to get lost in. The soft breeze that made the heat bearable was ruffling his hair, blowing a few strands into his eyes, and she could still smell the cologne he’d used for the interviews.

His eyes flicked back up from where they’d been studying her collar to look into her own. She wondered what he thought of her solid green eyes; if he found them appealing - or unsettling. 

“I had to jimmy the lock the last time I came up here.” His voice was low, as if speaking above a whisper would break the spell. “I thought it was weird that it was easier today. It was because you’d already opened it before I came up.” 

She looked at him inquisitively, wondering where he was going with that.

“You’re really strong. Even with the power dampening collar. You didn’t pick the lock, you broke it to open the door.” His lips slowly spread into a grin. “That’s pretty cool. Just how strong are you?”

Kory examined his face, trying to see if he was fishing for information or just being curious. He looked sincere; she couldn’t find a hint of malice in his expression. She thought it couldn’t hurt to let him know.

“Pretty strong.” She replied, mimicking his earlier phrasing. “Tamaraneans are as strong as Amazons and Kryptonians.” 

He raised his eyebrows, “Oh... wow.” She tried to squash the feelings of satisfaction that rose up inside her at impressing him.

He made an aborted gesture with his hand, reaching out as if to touch the collar in her neck. He seemed to realise what he was doing, and he let out an awkward laugh, moving his hand to scratch the back of his neck.

Clearing his throat, he asked, “What does the collar feel like?”

The smile dropped from her face. The collar. It felt like captivity. Confinement. Collars never meant anything good; Kory would know. She could still vividly remember the feeling of the cold hard metal scraping against her neck, rubbing it raw. The pain was part of the training, they said, helping them become stronger. Kory hadn’t dared to voice her opinion out loud, but in the privacy of her own mind she’d fervently disagreed. Pain didn’t make you stronger, it just made you hurt.

This one, however, lay under her skin. With it on, the absence of her powers simmering through her veins left her feeling off kilter. It was a strange feeling, to be practically stripped of her very essence.

“It feels…” she trailed off. “It feels like not being able to use one of your limbs.”

He seemed to notice her change in demeanor, tactfully changing the subject. “So we’ve established that you’re pretty strong, what are your other powers?” 

“I can fly.”

He leant back on his forearms, smiling softly. “I’ve always wanted to fly.”

“Flying is my favorite sensation. The freedom, the weightlessness… it’s a rush.” He closed his eyes, as if imagining what she was describing. “It’s the best feeling in the world.”

She paused, trying to decide what else she should tell him. “I also have starbolts - that’s what I call them - they’re concentrated bolts of solar energy that I can shoot from my hands.” 

“Cool name,” he grinned, opening his eyes again to look at her. “How does the collar affect your powers then? Can you not fly? Do the starbolts not work?”

She thought back to sitting in her room, trying to produce starbolts and the frustration that came with not being able to. She had ended up accidentally setting her bedsheets on fire though; the heat coming from her hands had scorched the duvet despite pyrokinesis not being one of her powers, so maybe there’d still be some use for it in the arena. 

She could still hover a few feet off the ground, but only for a few seconds at a time. And she was still stronger than almost all of her fellow competitors. She wasn’t going to give him _all_ her secrets though.

“Are you mining me for answers to use to your advantage, Boy Wonder?” Her voice was teasing.

“Me? _Never_.” 

Kory paused for a second, the beginnings of an idea forming in her head. “I can show you this, though. Give me your hand.” 

He looked unconvinced. 

“Trust me.” She told him. He reached his hand out and she took it between her own. She closed her eyes, concentrating on releasing just enough energy to warm up both their hands and not burn him. She heard him take an intake of breath, and let out a soft “Woah.”

Opening her eyes, she let the energy dwindle. The soft, almost imperceptible glow that emitted from her hands as she used her powers faded out along with the heat. She laughed as she took in his expression of wonder. “You’ll just have to be left to figure out what else I can do.” 

Somewhere in between taking his hand and showing him her powers, they’d ended up leaning in to each other. His eyes found hers, again, and the world narrowed down to just the two of them. The tip of her forefinger had wound up brushing the inside of his wrist, and she could feel his pulse speed up. Then, realising they were still holding hands, he pulled away. Kory could see his cheeks flush a delicate pink. 

He cleared his throat, shifting to look out at the horizon again. 

“You’re a lot more relaxed, up here.” He told her, matter-of-factly. 

“Well, there’s no one to impress.”

“No one? Wow, I’m hurt.”

She laughed then, the surprise of it leaving her with a warm feeling in her chest, before shoving him with her shoulder. 

The laughter trickled to a stop, his smile turning shy. They held each other’s gaze for a few seconds, with bated breath. His eyes flicked down to her dress, trailing across her shoulders, before looking back up at her face.

“You look gorgeous right now.”

She raised an eyebrow at his remark, before taking a moment to look down at herself. She’d taken off almost all of the accessories that she’d worn for the interview; leaving herself with just the bracelets, and the dress. Her shoes had been removed too, and were laying on the floor next to her bare feet; her toenails painted a deep purple.

“Not that you didn’t look great before, in the interviews, because you did!” He looked flustered, like he’d just insulted her. “It just- all that metal couldn’t have been comfortable.” 

She took pity on his stammering, “Thank you, Dick. But I’m used to wearing extravagant outfits.” She winced internally, wondering what he must think of her. She sounded too accustomed to the lavish lifestyle of District 1. Clearing her throat, she bit her lip before replying. “You look gorgeous too. You’re even more handsome up close.”

She saw his cheeks redden again, and was delighted at how easy it was to make him blush. As if determined to one up her, he leant forward, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear.

“It was getting in your face,” he murmured. If they had been anywhere else - back in District 1, far away from here - she would have kissed him then. The thought took her out of the moment and she pulled back, looking away.

When she looked back at Dick she saw that he’d pulled back too, his face having gone carefully neutral. Not wanting the conversation to end there, she told him about the time she'd gone stargazing with her siblings.

They spent the next few hours talking about their districts; about what their lives were like. Kory shared vibrant anecdotes about her extended family, Dick telling her about his siblings in return. She could tell he was holding off from saying anything too personal, but she didn’t think it was out of distrust – it felt like a learned habit. 

Around 2am, when her eyelids started feeling heavy and her body sluggish, Kory stretched her arms above her head, waiting for the responding _clicks_ from her spine. She turned to Dick who had fallen silent, reclining back on his arms, his head tilted back to look up at the sky despite his eyes being closed. He looked peaceful.

“Well,” she said as she stood up, and Dick opened his eyes, “it’s been a pleasure to get to know you, I only wish it had been under better circumstances. Good luck tomorrow.”

His responding smile was a little sad. “It was nice to meet you too. Good night, and good luck.”

She returned his smile and then left, making her way over to the roof door. As she walked down the stairs to the first floor she found herself smiling.

After carefully removing her dress, and placing it on the chair in the corner of the room, she lay back in her bed, smiling at the ceiling. The evening had been a whirlwind, but it had ended _so well!_ It left her with a warm bubbly feeling in her stomach. 

When the joy of the moment wore off and she started thinking of what would happen the next morning her happiness faded, now tinged with a bittersweetness that sobered her up. She didn’t have time to think of boys, she had to be ready to face the arena she’d been training her whole life for. She needed to be ready to make her family and district proud. 

Tomorrow she’d be shepherded onto a hovercraft and flown for who knows how many hours until they reached the arena. She wondered what the uniform Bea had made for her would be like; if it would be layered to protect her from the elements, or if it would be sleek and light - comfortable for hot weather. And the arena? What would _that_ be like? She didn’t want it to be like the arena from the 42nd Hunger Games: an icy tundra where the sun was barely visible over the horizon during the day. She could only hope for sunlight. 

Closing her eyes, she huffed out a breath. She’d just have to wait until tomorrow to find out.


	4. Day One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first day of the Games has arrived, and though they’re all fighting to win, every tribute has a different strategy to survive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> … We have no excuses, take this 20k chapter as a peace offering. 
> 
> No but seriously, it’s finally the Games! This chapter was really fun to write, though juggling so many characters is pretty difficult. We brought this on ourselves (mostly Reyes because they can never pick just one fave) but it’s worth it for the end result!
> 
> We hope you enjoy this chapter, and hopefully the next one will be up soon! Comments are always appreciated - we’d love to hear your thoughts on the plot, character interactions, relationships, or anything that stands out to you!

Bruce Wayne had many regrets.

Disappearing the night before his son went to the Hunger Games and coming back after he’d already fallen asleep, was one of them. But he was a pragmatic person before anything else: he had to prioritise the rebellion because it was about more than just themselves. He couldn’t let himself be selfish. If Dick was aware of the complete picture, if he knew about the Justice League’s plans and the danger they were all in, he would understand. 

He _would_ understand.

That’s what he had to convince himself of to keep going. 

There would be no time better than this, really, for them all to meet up before they had to split their attention with the Games. The small, only a few hours long window where their tributes were on their way to the arena was chosen as their meeting time. They would have to make do with any spare time they could get, even if they were all antsy with anticipation right now.

“Are you sure about what you saw?” 

Diana’s expression didn’t change when she turned her gaze to Barry, but he still shrunk into his chair looking like he immediately regretted doubting her.

“Yes. Vertigo was in disguise, but I am certain that is who Pamela was speaking with.” 

The people sitting at the round table fell into a short silence, the only sounds in the room coming from Ted Kord and Oliver Queen working on weapons a little way away in the corner of the safehouse. 

“Vertigo works for Luthor.” Dinah said what everyone was thinking. “They’re gearing up for something.”

“We already knew we would have to fast-track our schedule. That is not a new problem in itself.” J’onn reasoned. “We have to adapt, but we cannot compromise our plans just because the other side is planning too.”

Bruce internally agreed, but didn’t say as much. Whatever Luthor’s intent was, they would have to be ready. That’s the way it had been since the League’s inception; they’d had to become good at thinking on their feet. 

Clark leaned forward, his elbows resting on the table. “First priority should be the Games. We can’t let this pass another year.” Though Clark’s words were trying to be neutral, Bruce – and everyone else – understood the underlying meaning. This year was personal, and it all felt like it was building up to something. They had never been this close.

“Clark, I understand your situation, but the rebellion can’t exactly be put on the backburner because of the Hunger Games. This is what we’ve been building up to for years.” 

Oliver, who had perked up when Clark had mentioned the Games, screwed his face up in anger. His kids had always been a sensitive spot for him, and he was prone to putting his personal ties above the mission. 

“Look, Zatanna, it may be different for you because it’s not your children in the Games, but-” Oliver didn’t get to finish his thought, as Zatanna interrupted him sharply. 

“Don’t you dare imply I don’t care about my tributes.” She let her words linger before continuing. “I never said we shouldn’t do anything about the Games. I’m just saying there’s more at stake, and we can’t risk it all for some wild shot.”

“Have we found a way to intervene without showing our hand too soon?” Dinah asked.

“Not in time for it to make a difference.” Arthur was frowning. “All our energies and resources would have to be reallocated solely for that.” 

“Resources we can’t spare.” Bruce pointed out. He forced the words out, even though all he wanted to do was agree with Clark and Barry. “We need to remember the bigger picture.”

There were reluctant noises of agreement all around the table.

Clark, however, wouldn’t let this go. “Then forget only doing something about the Games. Do we have enough support in the Districts to make our move now?” 

“We heard back from Nubia, Kate, and Talia yesterday.” Diana shook her head. “We are close, but to attempt something now would be pushing it too soon. We’d have to advance our plans by weeks for that to work.” 

Clark ignored that. “Would Ted’s device be ready?”

Ted Kord’s voice came from the other side of the room. “It’ll be ready.” He made his way over to the table, wiping his hands with a spare cloth. “I just need another week, at most.”

“Get it done faster,” Bruce told him.

He pursed his lips at Bruce’s words, but when he looked around the faces at the table he just nodded and went back to work. 

There was an expectant silence, until Dinah spoke again. “Even if we can manage that, it’s not enough. Clark, we can’t rush into this.” 

Clark’s hands were clenched into fists on top of the table, his knuckles having gone white; it said something about his self control that the table was still in one piece. They were all looking at him, as if expecting him to stand up and give a speech about hope that would get them all into action.

Bruce could read him like the rest couldn’t, however, and when Clark looked up at him and their gazes met, he knew that speech wouldn’t be coming. He was hopeful, but not foolish. Bruce shook his head almost imperceptibly, knowing Clark would catch the movement. When he did, his fists loosened and his shoulders sagged slightly. 

He hated feeling like their hands were tied.

But Bruce Wayne was good at getting out of traps.

* * *

The glass cylinder lowered around Kaldur, separating him from the rest of the world. There was a finality to it, to the way it snapped on the ground around the metal platform he was standing on; if the Games had felt far away until now, this was the moment where they turned into a reality. 

There was complete darkness for the fifteen seconds it took him to rise to the surface. Then light broke out. Dull, grey light. There was no bright sunlight to blind him after the darkness; the sky was completely and unnaturally covered by clouds, by the Gamemakers’ design. 

The first feeling that assailed him was the cold and high humidity. To Kaldur, it didn’t feel oppressive; instead, the water vapour in the air was reinvigorating. It gave him an extra strength he did not expect he would get in the arena. 

The voice of the announcer, Felix Faust, boomed out all of a sudden, coming out of seemingly nowhere. “Ladies and gentlemen, let the Forty-sixth Hunger Games begin!”

He had sixty seconds until the gong signaling the start of the Games sounded, and he could not let them go to waste.

In front of him was the Cornucopia, daunting as well as inviting, with the promise of food, weapons and everything else needed to survive. He could not dwell on it, not even entertain the idea of trying to reach for some of the safer supplies farther away from it. The target he and Tula had put on their backs was too big to take the risk.

He could see all the other tributes clearly – his eyes scanned immediately for Tula, five people away from him to his right –, but it was hard to get a look at the arena behind them. There was a heavy fog hiding the rest of the area, leaving only the Cornucopia and the tribute pods unaffected, and obscuring what Kaldur guessed were buildings if the shapes didn’t deceive him. He could not make any assumptions, however. 

He only allowed himself a few seconds to close his eyes and stretch his senses in search of a water source. He didn’t like what he found. There was water all around them – the closest was behind him, flowing into a river to his left, and he could feel more in every direction like they were standing on a big island. But there was something wrong with it, something that he couldn’t quite put a finger on. If he could use the full extent of his powers he would be able to figure out the exact reason why; it made him feel off kilter, the way the collar dampened them and left him with only a ghost of his full abilities. 

He didn’t have all of his powers, but he wasn’t defenseless. He could still use the water to his advantage; to heal, to manipulate, to draw strength from. The plan had always been to stay near water if possible. Their best bet was the body of water to his back, and skirting the edge to the river, which meant Tula would have to come to him.

It was a good thing they knew each other so well, because when he looked at her she was looking back, waiting for instructions. He made two quick movements with his hand, telling her to run backwards into the fog, and then towards him. She would know to use the fog and buildings to hide from the rest. They would meet at the buildings to his back and formulate a larger plan together.

He had been counting the seconds like he had been trained to do. 

Five. Four. Tula was still looking at him, and they nodded at each other.

Three. Two. One. The gong rang out, and the second it did, Kaldur was ready.

He immediately sprinted towards the edge of the fog, keeping an eye on the tributes beside him to avoid engaging them; both of them ran towards the Cornucopia, so they weren’t a concern. Tula was already not visible, a good sign that she was making her way towards him. He entered the fog before anyone could see him hesitate in his spot; he had already checked that it felt like regular water, not poisonous or otherwise dangerous. 

The fog impaired his vision slightly, so he let himself be guided by all of his senses, and in the end it was fairly easy to navigate. He couldn’t go far without risking missing Tula, so he stayed at a spot directly behind his pod. He had been right in his guess: the shapes he’d seen were buildings, some of them high and imposing, some of them crumbling down, entire walls missing. There was one to his right that looked like it had started to cave in, sinking underground. This only meant that there’d be multiple points from which they could be attacked; both by someone on the ground, or someone taking cover higher up at one of many possible points. 

If the arena was supposed to be a city, maybe they could find someplace where they could still be offered cover without having to watch so many directions. Like a park, or an area with lower buildings. He idly wondered if this was an old city struck by disaster – an earthquake, probably – that the Gamemakers had repurposed, or if it was entirely set up by them. 

While he was trying to make sense of the bloodbath through the fog (he couldn’t make out much beside the screaming and general fighting, wouldn’t even know how many had died until it ended and the cannons started sounding), he felt Tula walk towards him. Her steps were confident, and she was surely making her coming from slightly deeper into the fog than he had expected. She had either had to take a detour to run away from someone, or she was playing it safe. He couldn’t fault her. 

“Are you all right?” He said as soon as she had reached him. They both took cover behind a low crumbling wall. 

“I am uninjured, if that’s what you’re asking.” Her voice was steady but her eyes were wide open, looking around non-stop. 

He nodded, and slowly placed a hand on his shoulder to try to comfort her. “Good.” 

She took a deep breath, her body leaning into his hand. “We need to get out of here if we can. There’s too many hiding spots.”

“Exactly my thoughts.” They couldn’t waste any time. “I think we are supposed to be in a city. If we keep walking this way away from the Cornucopia, we will reach a body of water that is probably a port.” She nodded, having felt it as well. “If we follow the edge, we will see it turn into a river. Maybe it will lead to a park, or some place with vegetation.”

“Did you get that feeling about the water, too?” 

“Yes. But I cannot yet say what it is...” That was still unsettling him.

Her brows knitted in worry. “Let’s just go.”

So they left the fighting noises of the Cornucopia behind, right when a terrified scream cut off abruptly. Kaldur didn’t want to try to fill in the gaps in his mind. 

They had to walk carefully and watch every step they took, just in case, though Kaldur knew the Gamemakers probably wouldn’t activate any major traps today, all attention focused on the bloodbath. The most likely threat right now would be other tributes. They had the fog to rely on, working to their advantage in a way it would not for any non-Atlantean tributes: Kaldur could reach out with what was left of his powers to feel through the water in the air, sensing any movement around them. If they couldn’t find a safer place to stay, they would probably have to spend the night in this area. It made up for the danger of the buildings.

Almost half an hour later they finally reached the body of water Kaldur had felt initially, and it was indeed a port. There was a faded sign that read “Miller Harbor” – he could easily read it from a distance because the fog slowly dissipated as they neared the docks. There was also land visible not far away across the harbor, more buildings on the other side.

Tula stopped him walking further away with a hand on his chest. “We should stay within cover.” 

“I want to check the water.” He couldn’t make the feeling of wrongness go away, and it probably wouldn’t until he could place exactly what it came from.

Tula worried her lower lip. “I will watch your back.”

They walked forward that way. It was a relief knowing Kaldur could focus on navigating the port and Tula would alert him of any threat that came from behind. He walked as far away from the fog as he dared, to the closest place where he could touch the water. He leant down, kneeling on the edge of the platform, and lowered his hand, stopping right before contact to stay safe. 

He had been worried that the water would hold some type of substance designed to affect people some specific way – cause hallucinations, poison instantly, any other horror the Gamemakers could come up with. He found it was only contaminated, the way it was in most major cities. No immediate effects. He could not believe he was relieved to find contaminated water, but it could be worse. 

“It is definitely not safe to drink,” he informed Tula, “and we probably should not swim in it either. But you can come touch it.”

They traded places, and Kaldur split his attention between Tula and the buildings behind them. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her tentatively make water swirl up with her hydrokinesis. She didn’t stay long; when she was satisfied, they hurried back to keep making their way along the edge of the harbor to where they both felt the water narrow into a river. 

It was then that the cannons started sounding: the bloodbath was over. Both Kaldur and Tula stopped in their tracks to count the cannons. One. Two. Three. Silence. Kaldur released a breath.

Only three deaths in the bloodbath, where other times the number went as high as ten or more. It could mean a few different things: a considerable number of people run away, Districts 1 and 2 had let people go – unlikely, unless they had ulterior motives –, or the tributes who had gone into the bloodbath knew what they were doing, and had been able to match the careers in skill. If that was the case, then Kaldur and Tula would have to be especially careful. 

They kept walking in silence, all their attention focused on their surroundings.

About twenty minutes later, when they had reached the river and a set of bridges connecting to the rest of the land, they had their first encounter with another tribute. Kaldur had not known what he would do when the time came. He was trained in combat. He knew how to kill, and the purpose of the games was to kill – or be killed.

But this was a little girl, or barely a teenager: the one from District 8, walking all alone. No weapons in her hands. To go up to her, who hadn’t noticed them, and… it would be cold blooded murder. Before Kaldur could realize what he was doing, he motioned Tula to stay quiet while he grabbed her arm and led her behind a building. Tula’s eyes were conflicted with the same emotions Kaldur had just felt, but she never made any move to contest what had been Kaldur’s decision to hide. 

The girl kept making her way across one of the bridges, unaware of anyone watching her. She was walking in a crouch, and she would probably be hidden from anyone who wasn’t already looking for her. She got to the other side safely, where she ran and disappeared inside a building. 

It was a rare thing that someone as small and young as her fared well in the Games. Kaldur could only hope that she suffered as little as possible. 

Minutes dragged on as they kept going, following the river. They were still careful, though they picked up the pace as they became used to the terrain. Kaldur tried to stay aware of not becoming complacent.

An unexpected part of the Games was the walking. This was not how he had thought his Games would go – allying with Districts 1 and 2 was not a given, but it was both what was expected and what tended to happen. This change of plans meant he would not have the safety of the Cornucopia's resources and shelter. And it meant walking. 

He could not let himself be set off balance by it, so he forced his legs to continue taking him forward. It paid off. 

The sight of trees, the sounds of nature and the tugging feeling of a clean, pure water source nearby felt too good to be true. They had found, as he had hoped, a park entrance. He did not trust anything that looked so enticing. They needed food to maintain their strength, however, and the park could provide better shelter, so Kaldur and Tula looked at each other and agreement passed silently between them. They plunged on together.

* * *

The moment the glass closed around Conner the world went quiet. His world had never been this quiet before. Even with the collar. It was jarring, and he didn’t like the feeling.

Being pushed up through the tube into the arena was a shock – the first thing that registered was the cold. He added _cold_ to the list of things he was feeling for the first time, and did not like. He felt vulnerable. And exposed. His brows knitted themselves into a scowl. Just how much longer was this whole experience going to make that list?

His eyes were drawn to the Cornucopia, taking in the weapons in and around it. They were all a shining silver, gleaming in the sunlight _._ They were an unbearable temptation.He’d normally not use any weapons, preferring punching, but since he didn’t have his full strength he’d have to compromise. Maybe a mace would work? Something sturdy enough to make up for his lack of powers.

There were wooden crates scattered around the area too, but he didn’t pay them any mind. What interested him wouldn’t be inside them. 

He looked around him at the surrounding tributes, finding Kara four tributes to his right. He mentally kicked himself for not having talked about alliances before then. He’d been so sure he didn’t need anyone, and then with the shock of the interviews he hadn’t had time to think about it. He wondered how she’d take it if he went up to her. 

He could see the determined look on her face; she looked prepared for anything. She was looking all around her, like she was contemplating what to do, and he wondered what she’d decide – and if, maybe, they could help each other. He shook his head. There was no time to waste thinking about what-ifs, he had to be sure. And he was going for the Cornucopia. 

The gong that signaled the start of the Games sounded, and Conner made to head straight for the Cornucopia. Before he could make it more than a few feet, though, Kara intercepted him by grabbing his upper arm. She tugged on it twice.

“Stop.”

He wasn’t sure what she was doing but he allowed himself to be pulled away by her.

“If you go straight for the Cornucopia head on, you’re going to put yourself right in the way of the other tributes. Careers.” Her pulling became more insistent. “We’re going around the long way, so no one kills us.”

Conner had to stop and stare at her for a second, taken aback by how she was including him in her plan. _Helping_ him. She held his gaze, determined, but there was a glimmer of doubt in her eyes. Like she didn’t know how Conner would react.

“Let’s go.” He agreed, and she let out a breath. No long talks about alliances, advantages and disadvantages, but he realized they didn’t need those to know they’d have each other’s back. 

They ran up to the wall of the Cornucopia, and walked along until they reached the back, using the uneven architecture to try to hide. Conner still felt like he was walking in plain sight. Kara was leading the way; she had started to turn a corner when she abruptly backed up onto Conner.

“There’s someone on the other side against the wall.” She whispered after straightening herself, back flat against the wall. “She’ll see us if we go this way.”

They looked at each other, both unsure of what to do. 

“Are there more people that side?” Conner asked. Where they were, the only other people were two tributes several feet away from the Cornucopia, looking inside the wooden boxes. They weren’t paying Conner and Kara any attention, and didn’t seem interested in going into the Cornucopia either.

“Two careers, plus the girl. And I think there was someone else, but I backed up too quickly to see.”

“That’s too many.” Conner didn’t like admitting it. 

He could see the wheels turning in Kara’s head. “Let’s go back following this wall. It’s still better than running straight towards the mouth.” She gave him a harsh glance, but her mouth was smiling slightly. 

Conner only nodded. 

They switched places so Kara could keep leading the way and then retraced their steps. It didn’t take them long to reach the next corner. Kara stopped and raised a hand to tell Conner to stay quiet.

There were voices coming from inside the Cornucopia, but they didn’t sound close. Conner strained to hear what they were saying. 

“Maybe we can just go in and they won’t notice us. They sound busy.” He said optimistically.

Kara looked like she was trying to see through the wall, without much success. “There’s three people inside. I think they’re all far away?” It came out like a question.

Conner nodded. That’s what he thought, too. Three people speaking, all near the other wall. It was a big entrance. 

“We need to be quick,” Kara told him, “and know what we wanna get so we can go in and out. Did you see anything you wanted?”

Conner thought back to his mace idea. He’d seen a big one, close to where they were. He hoped it was still there. “Yes. We should get weapons and fresh water at least.”

Kara was thoughtful. “Backpacks are a good bet too, they might have something good inside. There’s three of them and only two of us, so don’t get greedy.” She eyed him carefully, and Conner tried not to roll his eyes. 

They rounded the corner staying as low as they could, and Conner went straight towards where he remembered seeing the mace. It was a flanged mace, with blunt edges that narrowed up to a point at the top, a decent weight in his hands when he picked it up. He looked around, but there was nothing else he could easily pick up and take, just more big weapons that he wouldn’t really use. Kara was inspecting a backpack, before putting it on. She had a mace in her hand, too, more spiked than his and spherical instead of flanged. Right when he noticed that she looked at him too, and they smiled at their matching weapons of choice. 

The others had miraculously not noticed them. Conner was about to tell Kara to leave, when the guy – District 11? – called out. “It’s your loss!”

He turned around, facing Kara and Conner’s direction, and they had to dive into the Cornucopia so he wouldn’t run into them straight on. They crouched behind a box. Now they’d have to wait until the two people left, both careers, stopped paying attention to the direction where the guy was leaving; to either leave, or have a surprise factor if they wanted to attack. Three against two hadn’t been good odds, but they both were strong enough to handle two against two.

All their focus was on the two careers, which was why they were startled by the sudden, high pitched screaming. 

They turned to see the guy who’d just left looming over the small figure of a girl on the ground, the source of the sound. She was half sobbing, half screaming, scurrying away from him. She was crying out _Billy_ in between screams. He didn’t seem to be in a hurry, however. Blood was dripping from a knife he was holding. There was too much blood around the girl as well, seeping out from a big gash in her arm, small cuts and a stab wound in her stomach. 

Kara must have noticed the same thing, because she had started to stand up as if to do something but had suddenly stopped. The girl could barely move anymore. Conner could almost see the strength leave her body. 

It was then that the pieces clicked together, and Conner remembered. The girl was from District 11. The guy was, too. And there were two pairs of siblings among this year’s tributes: the twins from District 2, and…

Something tightened in his chest. 

The guy bent down and in a quick motion slit the girl’s throat. It got suddenly quiet, her screams replaced by the gasp of air escaping her windpipe and blood gurgling out of the wound and in her mouth. Conner could hear it as if he were standing right next to her. 

She struggled one last time, hand reaching out to her attacker, before falling limply to the ground.

Conner felt the stillness in the air after her screams were cut off, before Kara lunged forward. “ _Bastard_!” Her yell was guttural, and furious. She raised her arm and brought down the mace on the boy’s chest, hitting him square on the chest plate he was wearing, that he probably had taken from the Cornucopia. The blow was hard, and despite him stepping back to escape the full force of it, he still staggered backwards. For all of Kara’s talk about not rushing into the fight and getting caught by another tribute, here she was putting herself in the thick of things.

 _Well_ , Conner thought, _I guess I’ll join in and help her._

He moved forward and brought his arm up, swinging his own mace in a downwards arc catching the boy in his exposed side. He noticed his own mistake as soon as he moved; he was so used to suppressing his full strength that the blow wasn’t nearly as hard as it could’ve been.

The mace had been a good idea, however, because its weight alone was enough to knock the air out of the other boy. The boy let out a grunt, the pain seeming to only make him angrier. He retaliated by lashing out wildly with his sword. 

Conner barely ducked in time, feeling the wind caused by the blade woosh by his head. He wasn’t used to fighting without his speed and his strength, and it pissed him off. He sidestepped the next swing, and caught the strike with his mace, using the momentum to push the sword away. He lost his grip, though, his mace clattering to the floor alongside it, so he screwed his hands into fists and made sure to hit the other boy in the face with all his strength. 

It turned out to still be a considerable amount, as the blow was hard enough to break his nose. Kara took that moment to bring her mace up in an uppercut, slicing across his cheek and forehead, narrowly missing his eye.

He cried out in pain, lifting up his hand to assess the bleeding. Blood dripped out from between his fingers, coming out of the four gashes, giving him a grotesque mimicry of red gloves. He took a couple steps back, dropping down to pick up the sword he’d dropped, and then taking a couple more.

Before he could get further away, Kara spun around and sunk the mace into his shoulder, the wound a parting gift. The blood was gushing from the wound on his face now, dripping into his eyes and obscuring his vision. He let out a snarl, though it was more pained than intimidating, and he turned and made for the cover of the fog where they couldn’t follow.

Kara wiped the back of her hand across her forehead, smearing the blood that had splattered there, while Conner took a second to recover his mace. Her eyes flicked up to meet Conner’s, and they looked hollow. Like she was suddenly exhausted.

The quiet moment didn’t last; Conner heard the laugh before he saw the other boy. He spun around, mace at the ready. It was the hulking blond from District 2, with a smarmy grin across his face.

“Lookie here sister Tuppence. It looks like this li’l farm boy wants to fight.” His words were as sharp as his sword looked, and he slowly walked towards where Conner was standing. “Bein’ the President’s little toy doesn’t getcha any privileges, yaknow.”

With a twisted smile, the guy brought up his sword and surged forward. Conner took a step back, narrowly missing a serious injury; the sword grazed his chest cutting the fabric of his shirt, the superficial cut welling up with droplets of blood. The close call snapped something in Conner.

He bared his teeth in a growl and lashed out, striking the other boy in the head so hard he could hear his neck click. He followed that up with a blow to his chest, before sweeping out the boy’s legs from underneath him. The sound of him slamming to the floor alerted the other careers to what was happening.

The boy’s sister had already been cheering the fight; now she looked furious. Conner felt the added weight of the other careers’ attention, but he knew he couldn’t back down. Kara, who hadn’t had a chance to join in against the blond guy, stood her ground next to him.

He was expecting them to run towards them swinging their weapons. What he wasn’t expecting was the boy from District 1 bringing his hands up, and three bloody corpses rising with the motion. The little girl they’d just seen die to their right, a boy with his forehead smashed in to their front, and a blue-skinned guy with an arrow jutting out of his neck to their left.

The blond guy from District 2 had crawled back and was watching smugly as the corpses, held up by invisible strings as if being controlled by a deranged puppet master, stumbled forward towards Conner who had frozen in his spot.

Kara, looking as pale as he must have been, shook him out of his horror. “Conner! We should go while we still can.” 

He could do nothing but nod as they hastily retreated, the sound of the witch-boy’s laughter ringing in the background.

* * *

The 60 seconds before the gong sounded felt like an eternity. 

It took all Wally had to stop himself from taking off the second the platform rose into the arena. He knew there were bombs around the plates that would be disabled after the 60 seconds were up, and with the collar impeding the full extent of his powers he wasn’t fast enough to outrun the explosion, but the temptation alone was overwhelming.

He looked around, taking everything in. On his left was the male tribute from District 1, it was just Wally’s luck to get stuck next to a career tribute, and the boy from District 7 was to his right. Wally didn’t even know the boy’s name, he realised. He couldn’t remember seeing him during training - though he must’ve been there - and he didn’t even remember what happened during his interview.

The boy was snapping distractedly with his left hand. Perhaps not knowing his name would make it easier to fight him if it came down to it. Wally didn’t know how he would fight against some of the friends he had made in his short time in the Capitol.

Directly in front of him was the Cornucopia, with everything you could imagine spilling out of it. The more valuable things were right at the mouth. Weapons- a veritable assortment of knives, swords, maces, bows, tridents, throwing stars - and other things Wally couldn’t even describe. Backpacks filled with everything you’d need to survive. Tent packs. Night vision goggles. Freaking _first aid kits_.

Scattered on the ground closer to the tributes were random items. Sheets of plastic. Water bottles. Nets. Matches.

He looked around to see if there was something he could grab quickly- he didn’t want to leave empty handed. He decided on a pack, lying several feet from the Cornucopia. It looked like it had a decent amount of supplies; it was smaller than the other packs closer to the Cornucopia, but that was better because that meant it would be lighter and easier for Wally to carry. 

He spotted Traci six tributes down to his left, and angled his feet to point towards her. He may not have the full extent of his powers but he was still fast. If he was going to run straight towards her, he’d have to cross in front of the other tributes in his path. And with a lot of them running towards and away from the Cornucopia, he’d have to be careful not to get caught in the chaos that would turn into the bloodbath.

There were three career tributes between him and Traci. Wally cursed his luck again. Having to pass by almost all of the career pack was almost enough to make him soil his pants. He would just have to be quick. 

As soon as the gong sounded, he started sprinting over to where she was standing. He only made it a few steps before he saw something out of the corner of his eye. The boy to his left had stuck out his hands in his direction, and was shooting a bolt of… some type of visible energy towards him.

In a second, he was ducking into a roll to get out of the way. He straightened himself up and kept running. He didn’t look back, but thought he could hear the boy making a loud frustrated sound. Wally grinned at that. He reached out as he ran, and snagged the backpack.

He turned his attention back to Traci, who had moved away from the other tributes. _Smart girl_ , he thought. The moment he reached her, he scooped up her slender body in his arms bridal style and she let out a surprised laugh. It brought a smile to his face.

“Hold tight,” he reminded her, and they sped off in the direction opposite of the Cornucopia. There was fog surrounding the circle of plates the tributes had risen up on. 

For a brief moment, he wondered if maybe it was a good idea to run straight into the fog without considering all the variables - what if it was poisoned? - but then he plunged into it face first. He did try to shield Traci from it as much as he could, so he counted that as a point in his favor. The fog impeded his vision, and would make the run potentially dangerous. 

Traci gripped him tightly as they left the chaos of the bloodbath behind, safe for now. 

He ran as fast as the collar allowed him, trying to put as much distance between him and Traci and the other tributes as possible. The arena was quiet; the only sounds were the crunching of the gravel under his feet as he ran, and the sound of his labored breaths.

The scenery around them changed from the broken high rise buildings and rubble that was surrounding the Cornucopia to older, shabbier buildings which had less stories and more grime, as they moved deeper into the arena. The fog had dissipated as they moved further in too, which made Wally more comfortable. Running full speed with low visibility wasn’t his idea of a good time. 

Wally noticed the exposed wires coming out of the peeling walls as he ran. They spilled down onto the street, and he wondered if the electricity was still working, and if the wires had a current. If it rained, those could become a problem.

They had to take small breaks every so often, as the collar implant had taken away most of Wally’s strength along with his speed. The first break was just off of the side of a wide road that a crooked sign indicated had the street name ‘COVENTRY’. The road looked like it had once been a high street, many lifetimes ago. 

From where they were standing, the stores all looked empty, loose garbage and broken glass littering the streets. The storefront next to where they’d stopped was the only one that had anything on the shelves. There was an extravagant clock on display front and centre. The shelves were lined with empty cans and vintage books with ripped papers. To the left was an old broken radio split open down the middle, looking like it had been cleaved in half. It felt like a stark reminder of just how cut off from the rest of the world they were - communication with the outside world tantalisingly close but still out of reach.

They stayed only long enough for Wally to catch his breath and stretch his arms, before taking off again. Even though they hadn’t seen anyone since they’d started running, he didn’t feel safe still so close to the Cornucopia. So, as soon as he felt ready, he picked Traci up again and took off running.

They stopped just before there was a change of scenery – tall, narrow buildings stuck closely together looming in front of them – at around midday, judging from the sun. Wally opened his mouth and was just about to speak before he was cut off by the sound of the cannons. 

_Boom._

_Boom._

_Boom._

He snapped his jaw shut. Traci looked up at him from where she stood to his left, mouth turned down in a frown. 

Wally thought for a moment, trying to figure out what to say to lighten the mood.

“How about we see what’s in the pack?” He suggested, and Traci nodded.

They sat down cross-legged on the sidewalk with their backs to a building, and Wally set the backpack in between. He dragged the big zipper to reveal that it was half full, so he started taking things out and displaying them on the floor so they could take stock. There was a thin sleeping bag, an empty water canister, a pack of crackers, and a pack of beef jerky. A smaller pocket on the front held a tiny box of matches and a pocket knife. 

Their best find was the food, clearly. Wally put everything else back in the backpack, while Traci stood up, picking up the pack of jerky and examining its contents. Wally swiped the crackers as he stood up too, handing them over to Traci.

“This isn’t a lot, we should ration it,” she proposed. Wally neglected to mention anything about his metabolism, and how it would be barely enough to keep his energy up. He’d have to make do. 

“We can start eating a little bit now, just so we can keep going and get as far away as possible,” he answered, then added in an attempt to joke: “You don’t want me to start getting cranky.”

Traci rolled her eyes and opened the pack of jerky she was still holding. They slowly nibbed on the jerky and crackers as they walked. As long as they were just walking, and Wally didn’t have to exert himself too much, he would be ok. Still, he had to ask.

“Are you sure you don't want me to carry you again?” He asked her. 

“I can walk on my own, you know.” 

They walked for a while, until Wally just _had_ to say something; he’d never enjoyed long periods of silence. “So, how do your powers work then? I mean, we can’t strategize a plan if we don’t know each other’s strengths and weaknesses.”

“I’m still in training. Technically I’m not supposed to do magic; my dad doesn’t like it. He’s a skeptic.” She made a face. “I draw my powers from the… essence of cities. Like, their knowledge and stuff.” 

Wally pondered her words for a moment. Privately, he agreed with her dad. There had to be a scientific explanation for why she could do the things she could. He wasn’t gonna say that to her, though. “Does that mean you can use it here? Does this even count as a city?”

“I don’t know… What makes a city a city?”

“A city is a legally defined government entity.” Wally recited. “Basically, it’s somewhere with at least two thousand five hundred people and it’s self governed. So… I guess this doesn’t count?”

Traci seemed to be seriously considering it. “Is an abandoned city not a city anymore then?”

“I think we’re getting into philosophical stuff now.” He tilted his head, pensively. “I guess it is.” 

“So then, yeah. I might be able to use the arena to bolster my powers. But I haven’t really been able to tap into them with the collar.”

Wally regarded Traci. “You’ll just have to keep trying, then. I’m sure you’ll get it soon.”

The scenery changed once more as they entered what Wally had started to think of as another of the arena's sections. Where the previous section had been almost inoffensive in how generic it looked, this one was crammed with towering skyscrapers practically on top of each other with how close they were. 

The streets were steep, almost at 45 degree angles, and they made the buildings lining them look crooked. Looking up at the buildings made Wally feel dizzy, almost like a reverse vertigo. Was that even a thing? 

As the sky started to darken, they came to a stop in front of one of the skyscrapers. This particular one was a mottled gray, and had broken and blacked out windows. It looked exactly the same as every other skyscraper, but it was situated at the top of a slope, which gave them the ability to see anyone who would be approaching.

“I think we’ve walked far enough.” Wally decided. “Maybe we should look for some shelter here.”

“Do you think it’s a good idea to keep going this way?” Traci asked. She was looking down, probably feeling the same dizziness that Wally had felt looking at the buildings.

Wally shrugged. “There was nothing in the area we just passed. Better to keep exploring.” He hesitated. “We can always go back the way we came from if we need to.”

“If you’re sure.” She said, noncommittally. She kept her eyes trained on the ground, swaying slightly as she walked. Wally would just have to be alert and focused enough for the both of them.

Pushing open the door proved to be a challenge, as it had been rusted shut. After two shoves of Wally’s shoulder, it gave in, slowly creaking open. They carefully made their way inside, on alert for any traps. After confirming that they were alone there, they continued along deeper into the building. 

They made it up two flights of stairs before deciding that they were high enough. From their vantage point, they could see if anyone was approaching where they were, but were also low enough that they could escape the building quickly, if needs be.

The room they chose was one which had a blacked out window. There was enough space in the corner of the window that they could peek out of it and not be seen. It was furnished with a broken down couch with the springs exposed, an old bed frame which looked more like kindling, and a pile of deflated pillows in the corner. 

“I think we should be good here for the night. We can look for food tomorrow morning.” Wally said, as he walked over to the pillows. They could use those for bedding, perhaps.

“How are we gonna look for food out _there_?” Traci sounded skeptical.

“There has to be something. The Gamemakers wouldn’t just let us starve.” Wally reasoned, turning around to look at her.

“Well… It is called the Hunger Games, right?”

He gave her a look. “Ha ha, very funny, genius. Starvation is a slow, boring way to die. Not much entertainment in that. The Gamemakers want flashy, gory deaths.”

“I guess you’re right. Hopefully, a good night’s sleep will help us tomorrow.” She looked around the room. “How are we going to do this?”

“I’m glad you asked.” He smiled, holding up both hands, index fingers extended in a _wait and see_ gesture. He momentarily wished he had his powers, because this would be a great moment for him to utilise them for comedic effect. He picked up three pillows from the pile and laid them out in a line on the floor, then picked up three more and did the same. He turned back to her, and made another gesture, this time a _gimme_ one, pointing at the backpack. She tossed it to him and he opened it to pull out the sleeping bag, which he spread out over the pillows.

“Ta-da! We now have a king sized bed, m’lady.” He sunk into a low bow, whistling a trumpet fanfare. Straightening up, he plopped himself down onto their makeshift bed.

Traci laughed at his antics, before walking over to join him. She sat down, pulling off her boots, before giving a full body shiver.

“Are you cold?” As soon as the question left his mouth he felt like face-palming. _Duh, Wally._ “We can start a fire? It’s not dark enough outside yet for it to be a risk. Plus we’re inside, and the windows are covered.”

Traci smiled up at him. “That would be nice. Thanks.”

He shot up, walking over to the broken bed frame. As he was bending over to snap the wood into smaller pieces, he felt a pang of discomfort in the pit of his stomach. He frowned, before continuing with what he was doing. This time it was stronger, a wave of nausea hitting him like a punch in the gut. He breathed out shakily before dropping into a seated position.

He looked over at Traci to find her sitting with her head braced between her knees. 

“You ok?” He managed to get out. Just as she opened her mouth to speak he felt another pang of nausea, his stomach rolling. 

_Well_ , he thought, _this could be a problem_.

* * *

If Donna was going to run into the bloodbath and come out alive, she had to be smart. 

Her strategy was to use the Cornucopia for cover, as she was alone, with no one to watch her back. It would hide her from any tributes to her right while allowing her to watch the ones to her left. The first two – the small girl from 8, and Dick Grayson – she was confident would run away. The third was Lucas Carr, who was looking at the Cornucopia as if in doubt. He might run forward; they hadn’t become close enough for her to be sure. Next to him was Wally West, his body already angled to run off to the left, giving himself away. Then was the boy from District 1, looking at Wally with a mischievous smile on his face. She could deal with all of them. 

When the gong sounded, she didn’t waste any time. 

She was right about the first two tributes to her left, who immediately sprinted away into the fog surrounding them. She could put them off her mind for now. While she ran, she kept an eye on the ones who hadn’t ran away. 

Lucas was headed towards the Cornucopia, making his way not straight towards the mouth, but to the wall nearest and some of the wooden crates laying there. She was faster, and avoided him easily. 

On the other hand, the boy from 1 didn’t run at first; instead, he stayed in place as he lifted his arms and spread his hands. With a flick of his fingers, a nearly invisible, weak looking stream of magic shot towards Wally right as he ran in front of him. Donna was fully expecting Wally to fall down in pain; but, only slightly faster than possible, he dodged, throwing himself forward and quickly rolling on the ground, standing up, and running away. 

The career boy screamed in frustration and stomped onwards. Donna was already at the wall of the Cornucopia, so she put her back against it and crouched, trying to make herself inconspicuous. 

The person in the next pod had run off too – Donna couldn’t see them already. There was another career going towards the boy from 1, who was still throwing a tantrum. They didn’t look like they were in any hurry to go to the mouth of the Cornucopia, so she started sneaking along the side herself.

Only one tribute was confidently running towards it so far: the girl from District 1. Koriand’r Anala; if anyone asked Donna, she would say she was the biggest threat of all the careers. Not the best scenario, but with the other careers away from the Cornucopia, it might be her best chance. 

Except that right when she was about to reach the mouth and turn to go inside, someone else got there – big guy from 11. She could handle Koriand’r, but it would probably take up all of her attention. Donna ducked back behind the Cornucopia, cursing under her breath. She had to get the weapons to be able to leave, and it had to be fast. The longer she stayed around here, the more likely she was to get caught by a career tribute and have her life threatened.

She couldn’t see what was happening inside, but couldn’t risk taking a look. She heard three different voices – Koriand’r, the guy she had seen go in, and someone else, maybe one of their allies –, but not yet any sounds of fighting. The other two careers, looking mad at each other but still together, were also heading towards the Cornucopia now; this was getting more and more crowded. She might lose her chance. 

Slowly moving back down to the point of the Cornucopia, to lower the chances of running into the careers gang, she took a second to think. She was confident in herself enough to know she could make do without grabbing any weapons, but having already made it here, she had to make it count. There was no one else on this side of the Cornucopia but Lucas Carr rummaging into one of the wooden crates near a wall. She had a few minutes of safety, so she told herself if none of the people inside came out in the next five minutes, she would grab as many of the lesser supplies scattered around as she could, and cut her losses. 

Luck seemed to be on her side, though, because only a few minutes later, two of the careers came out. She rushed back to the mouth, and heard the guy from 11 leave as well, shouting at whoever was left inside – “It’s your loss!”. That still left Koriand’r and possibly someone else. She quickly glanced around the corner as much as she dared, and saw Koriand’r standing next to the blond boy from District 2, very close to the side of the entrance she was on. _Damn_ , she couldn’t catch a break. She waited a few minutes – one of them, at least, might leave to hunt whoever else was still around the Cornucopia. 

But she couldn’t wait any longer. There wouldn’t be a better opportunity than this; she’d have to sneak in, maybe even avoid any confrontation at all if she could find hiding spots. She managed, at first. There was a box as soon as she turned the corner, just big enough that it could hide her. Koriand’r was inside, standing tall and confident surveying her surroundings. She was already wearing armor, but wasn’t holding any weapons. Donna wouldn’t assume that meant she was unarmed. The blond guy had moved away from the entrance, eyes focused on something outside – it was then that Donna heard the screams, muffled by the walls of the Cornucopia. She tried to put them out of her mind. 

Her first finding was a round metal shield leaning against a box. Donna went further in holding the shield and walking in a crouch behind the boxes. She managed to grab a backpack, though she didn’t risk stopping to see what it held. Then she found arm gauntlets, incredibly useful for self defense, to cover her exposed forearms. But there weren’t any weapons so near the wall, and just as she was lamenting that fact her eyes caught the shine of a short sword, perfect to pair with a shield, sitting atop a box about four steps away from Donna, but closer to Koriand’r. 

She was to Koriand’r’s back, who still hadn’t noticed her. Donna had been quick, but there wasn’t much time left before she was found, or before someone else came in. That sword could mean the difference between life or death, and even if picking it up made her presence known, it could also mean a better chance to come out of the bloodbath alive. 

That moment, the District 2 guy walked away from the Cornucopia altogether. It was only her and Koriand’r. She quickly planned the path she had to make to grab it and get outside, and ran. 

Koriand’r turned around to the sound of Donna picking up the sword. Surprise flashed across her face for only a second, before she went into a defense position. Donna tried to run around her, but she got in her way. 

They both stood still for a second.

“You know I cannot let you leave.” Koriand’r said calmly, as if she was only reciting a fact.

Donna raised her sword. “I wasn’t asking for permission.”

Koriand’r’s lips turned into an amused smile, but her solid green eyes didn’t seem cruel. Still she didn’t doubt herself, and in one swift motion she reached over inside a box to pull out a longsword and lunged herself at Donna. Donna was just quick enough to block the attack with her shield.

She had been right. Koriand’r came at her like a ball of fire, and it took absolutely all of her focus to keep herself in the fight. Koriand’r’s longsword meant that she had a longer reach, but it was made to be held with both hands, which, if Donna was good enough, left her open to more attacks. And Donna _was_ good enough. 

Donna crouched to dodge Koriand’r’s swing, and from that position she spinned, extending her arm to reach for the side Koriand’r had left open. She was unable to cause more than a scratch through the armor, but counted that as a win. She rolled away to put some distance between them again and catch her breath. She was still unharmed. Her goal was to either to get close enough to cause more damage, or get her to stand away from the entrance; Koriand’r was unmoving in guarding her position.

This time Donna was the one to attack first, and as Koriand’r easily blocked her sword with her own, Donna hit her side with the edge of her shield. She almost doubled over in pain but quickly composed herself, shoving Donna’s sword away and taking a step back, and brought her sword down in a wide arc. She was quick; Donna had to use both her shield and her sword to block the next attacks, impeding her from attacking herself.

The clashing of the swords together was all she could hear. They were coming to a standstill, both unable to penetrate the other’s defenses, and Donna would start to get out of breath soon – cursed dampening collar. She had to act quickly. In Koriand’r’s next attack, she caught the sword with her own blade, and twisted. She had to be strong and quick enough to be able to make her lose her grip. 

The sword clattering to the ground was music to Donna’s ears. But before she could take advantage of her position, Koriand’r kicked at her arm, still coming back from the swing. Surprised by the force of her kick, she lost her sword as well, and it slid towards the entrance of the Cornucopia. Koriand’r didn’t lose a second, grabbing Donna by the throat. They were close, and Donna’s shield got caught between their bodies, rendering it useless. 

Koriand’r backed her up against one of the taller boxes, gripping tightly. Donna bent back trying to escape her grip while her hand came up to try to pry her arm away, but it was becoming impossible; her hand seemed to be expelling heat, going from uncomfortable to painful really fast.

It was useless to struggle against her hand. In one last effort before the burn became serious, she brought her leg up as high as she could between their bodies, and kicked down at Koriand’r’s knee _hard._ She faltered only for a second, but that was all the time Donna needed to yank her arm away and slip away from her grasp.

She ran as fast as she could to the entrance, picking up her sword on the way out – this couldn’t have all been for nothing. Only once she was outside she could breathe easier; Koriand’r wouldn’t follow her out of the Cornucopia, she was sure. She chanced a glance back when she was effectively outside and a few feet away: Koriand’r was standing almost at the mouth, breathing hard. She didn’t look frustrated or angry, didn’t lash out or scream insults at her. There was a strange intensity to her green eyes as they followed her, and Donna had to shake herself to put it out of her mind. 

Going back towards where she’d come from, she found herself in an entirely different scene. 

“Try with him.” The blonde from District 2 was telling the other career boy, the one she’d seen shoot magic before. She was loud enough for Donna to hear from a distance. “Maybe this time you won’t miss.” 

The words seemed to touch a sore spot with the boy. Donna connected the dots too late. She started moving as soon as she realized what was happening, but it felt like slow motion.

Lucas Carr was still searching inside the wooden crates; he looked up at the loud noises and tried to stand up so fast that he tripped on his own feet. The two careers were already almost on top of him, and he had no chance to get away. 

Donna was thirty feet away when he started contorting in pain on the ground, surrounded by streams of magic, the career boy laughing at him. She was twenty feet away when the girl got bored and raised the metal bat she was holding. She was ten feet away when it came down on Lucas’ head with a loud cracking sound.

Both careers turned around to the sound of her approaching. She was tired from the fight with Koriand’r, and after seeing the boy’s powers, she didn’t want to take any chances fighting both of them. She would have tried it to save her district partner. It was too late now. 

She dodged a stream of magic as well as she could – it caught her on her side, slightly, and she didn’t think it was causing any wounds but she could feel the _pain_ –, and hit the girl with her shield, sending her stumbling backwards. Then she just kept running past them, away from the Cornucopia and the blood pooling around Lucas’ head. 

* * *

The gong rang out, echoing against the concrete of the arena, and Babs let herself look at the vast supplies in the Cornucopia one last time before she set off running in the opposite direction. 

She met with Dick at the edge of the fog, in the middle point between both of their pods like they’d agreed to. He was studying it, head slightly cocked to the side, as if unsure whether they should go in or not.

“I doubt the Gamemakers will kill us all with fog on the first day,” she tried to reason.

“I guess you’re right,” he conceded, though he didn’t look totally convinced. “But it might have other effects.”

It wasn’t a crazy possibility. “Then let’s see if there’s a way out of it, quick.”

“Sounds good to me.”

They entered the fog at the same time. It was hard to see around them more than a few feet away, and she could only recognize the general shape of things - tall, old buildings, sidewalks, lampposts. They were definitely in a city, or at least that’s what it was supposed to look like. Though the buildings were crumbling in places, some starting to fall apart and some only ruins, she got a strange sense of comfort from the place. 

Dick was looking up, his eyes scanning the sides of the buildings and stopping when he got to the top. She caught what he was probably seeing: the fog seemed to clear up high.

“Do you think they’re safe to scale?” She said, knowing what he was going to propose. 

“It’s worth a shot. We might be able to see the whole arena.”

They found a building with a working fire escape ladder and easily got to the top. It wasn’t tall enough to see much – less than ten stories tall, the fog still reached the roof. It was still not as heavy as it was on the ground; Babs hadn’t realized how much the fog felt like a weight pressing down on her body until it started to dissipate and she could breathe easier. 

There was a fifteen story building next to the one they were on. That one would be perfect for what they wanted to do. 

It wasn’t like this was something new to either of them. Back home their dads worked together a lot, and with Dick being the older sibling – though he was still younger than Babs – it meant that they ended up hanging out a lot. Once, Dick had the idea to show him one of his favorite pastimes, so they sneaked away from the Manor and into the city, and he led her to a quiet area with buildings stuck close together. He’d shown her how to jump from one building to the other, almost like they were flying. They kept meeting there often, ever since. 

So when Dick made the short jump from this rooftop to the side of the other building, she could keep up. They landed on a balcony, and used the pipes and any other handholds they could find to keep making their way up. They reached a fire escape ladder on the last few floors, and finally got to the roof, where the fog was almost entirely dissipated.

“It’s huge,” Dick said under his breath, already standing at the edge. 

The arena was so big that from their fifteen story tall vantage point they still couldn’t see all of it. The city – at least what they could see of it – was standing on an island, looking like it was struggling to stay up after the destruction caused by a disaster, maybe an earthquake. There was a river cutting through it, bridges connecting both sides, though some had fallen apart and would be impossible to cross. The river crossed through the middle of a large park, populated by overgrown trees and plants. To every side there were more buildings; the tallest were on the other side of the river, not far from where they were. The fog seemed to be confined to the area they were in now. 

The fog avoided the Cornucopia in a perfect circle, too, with the odd effect of making it look like there was a spotlight on it. They had a very clear look of the bloodbath.

Babs was half expecting to see the Cornucopia entirely surrounded by pools of blood, as the popular name for the beginning of the Games would lead one to believe. When she looked down, it wasn’t as gruesome as she’d thought – but the red surrounding the only two bodies that weren’t moving contrasted brightly with the dull grey of the concrete floor.

The sight of it left a sick feeling in Barbara’s stomach that she tried to ignore by focusing on something else. Another body had just been beaten to the ground, though it was hard to tell whether the person was maybe only unconscious. A girl was running towards the two attackers, pushing through instead of engaging. She kept going in the same direction they were in; Babs noticed Dick shifting as if trying to follow her moving figure, but she disappeared into the fog. 

The two attackers were walking back to the Cornucopia, with a leisurely pace that surely meant they were careers. There were not that many people left around. In fact, besides the careers, there were only three people left; one of them a blond haired girl she had somewhat become familiar with in the past days.

Kara was fighting with a spiked mace, alongside someone who could only be the boy from her district, facing off against a guy that was bigger than the both of them. As soon as Conner disarmed their opponent, Kara brought her mace in an upwards arc and Babs saw blood taint the other guy’s face. The echo of his scream only barely reached where Babs and Dick were standing.

Then, Kara spun around swinging the mace – in an almost effortless move that made her look, quite frankly, like a badass – and hit him in the shoulder. The red that started pouring out of his newest wound mixed with the blood falling down his face, and he made the smart choice to retreat. 

Though she was finding it hard to tear her gaze away, Dick tugged on her arm, his gaze flitting from the fight to the spot in the fog where the other girl had run into. “We should keep going.”

After throwing one last look at the Cornucopia – where the winners of that fight were now left facing the careers –, she turned away so they could decide their next move. The higher visibility they had because of the height of the buildings and the decreased fog was something neither were ready to give up yet. 

The buildings were stuck closely together and partly caved in; some of them looked untouched by whatever disaster had struck the city (though the more she thought about it, Barbara would’ve guessed it was entirely designed by the Gamemakers, down to every crumbling wall), but most of them had missing chunks of walls, ceiling, floor. It wasn’t safe to try what they were doing with buildings in such a state, it certainly wasn’t like doing it back home, and they were risking falling with every move. But it also gave them a sense of safety: no one would be looking for them up here, and they would see anyone that came close early enough to decide what to do.

It helped that Dick was uncannily good at finding his way around the rooftops, too. He looked so light on his feet, so much like he was flying instead of jumping, that it made Barbara feel like her steps would make the roof give out where his hadn’t. 

It wasn’t too long before they did have to give up that safety, however. The buildings ended as they reached the river that cut the island in half; in front of them, a set of bridges connected to the other side, and to their right, the park stretched out. There was no question about which way to go; as much as the park looked like it could promise them food and water, it didn’t make sense to abandon the place that let them play to their strengths.

So they crossed the bridge running and left the fog behind.

With clearer air and on ground level, Babs finally realized what the particularity of this arena was.

The arena seemed to have been made just for them. With its tech that looked like it was growing from the buildings themselves, it was heaven for a tribute from 3. She saw circuit boards scattered around, as if there’d been an explosion that had sent a box of them flying. The building in front of them had a huge broken screen propped up against the wall. It had cracked right down the middle, and the lightbulb on the inside had smashed. 

Babs spotted a few motherboards in and around all the rubble. Her hands almost itched to pick them apart and build something out of them. There was nothing they could use them for though, and they didn’t have any packs to be able to put them in to save for later. She sighed, before gesturing at Dick for them to keep going.

As they walked deeper into the arena, Babs was struck by how the buildings changed so drastically. They became taller, and sleeker, making it harder for Babs’ feet to find purchase in order to climb up to the roof. They were also further apart, so jumping from building to building became impossible.

As she turned to Dick, she spotted a camera lens shuttering. She blinked in surprise, before leaning closer to examine it. Coming across one of the cameras the Gamemakers used to record the games was bizarre. Logically she’d known since the beginning that she was being filmed, but being made aware of the cameras made her skin crawl; she could almost feel the watching eyes burning her skin. 

“Let’s get moving. This place gives me the creeps.” She told Dick. He nodded, eager to keep going.

They walked for what felt like an hour, trying to get away from the awful modern architecture, before the buildings began to change again. They became shorter, older, more like home. Choosing to scale one of the buildings, since they could again, they continued their search from above.

Hopping from roof to roof, Babs could almost smile. The feeling of weightlessness that occured when you were mid jump was exhilarating. Landing on the roof of a building, breathless with exertion, they came across a water tank. 

They cracked open the lid to peer inside. 

“It looks clean enough to me?”

“I guess… I’d give anything for some iodine drips right about now.” Dick perked up a little, turning to one of the cameras they’d spotted earlier, jutting his bottom lip out in a pout. “Hey Bruce, can you send us some iodine please?” 

Babs rolled her eyes, shoving her elbow into Dick’s ribs. “Quit messing around.”

Dick rubbed at his ribs grumbling, as Babs turned back to the water tank. They didn’t have a bottle, or any container to store the water in, so they’d have to stay close. That is, if it was even drinkable. She looked around the roof briefly, to see if there was anything she could use, before deciding against it. Anything they found would be dirty anyway. There was nothing else to do but use her hands.

Rolling up her sleeves, she cupped her palm and leant down scooping up a handful of water, before bringing it up to her mouth. Dick eyed her movements, looking unsure of it all. She took the plunge, sipping at the water. It was stale, with a bitter aftertaste, but it didn’t taste like it had been sitting there for more than a few days. It was safe enough to drink, she thought.

After saying as much to Dick, he scooped up some water in his palm too, hesitantly taking a sip. He made a face at the taste but he too considered it safe to drink apparently, since he took another sip, and another until he’d finished it all. Once they’d both quenched their thirst, they looked a bit closer at their surroundings.

In front of them, there was a gothic highrise building with a giant clock face on the side. It had four winding turrets on each corner of the roof and on the corners, next to the clock face, were old crumbling gargoyles. The building stood untouched by all the turmoil and destruction surrounding it. It looked like the best place to hole up. 

It was already getting dark, and it wasn’t like they were going to go scavenging for food now anyways. It made strategic sense for them to find shelter. Food was a necessity that would have to be pushed to tomorrow. Bright and early in the morning.

“That’s as good a place as any, right?” Dick mentioned, following her eyeline up to the clocktower. She grinned at him.

“It’s perfect.”

* * *

Kory had to admit that, when she saw the tributes from District 9 fighting alongside each other, driving Billy Hayes away and knocking Tommy down, she was momentarily worried. She had been quite evenly matched when she’d fought Donna Troy, and didn’t want any surprises if it came to facing off these two tributes – the last remaining at the Cornucopia.

The surprise that came was of another kind, however. 

When Klarion raised his arms she was confused for a second. As far as she knew, his magic - the kind he used in a fight, at least - was limited to a certain distance, and though she wasn’t sure of the exact limit, she imagined the two tributes were too far away for it to reach them. 

That’s not what he was thinking of doing. The bodies of the three dead tributes rose to their feet, their heads hanging lifelessly but their limbs following Klarion’s commands as he moved his arms and hands with a puppeteer’s motions. He looked like he was straining with the effort, but there was a vicious smile on his face that would’ve made Kory afraid of him if she had been anyone else. More than his smile, what was frightening was the fact that he was able to wield so much power while wearing a dampening collar - she would have to bring that up, later. Probably without Tommy and Tuppence around. 

Now, she could do nothing but stare as the corpses walked slowly but surely towards Conner Kent and Kara Zor-El, who were frozen in place until Kara snapped out of her shock and dragged Conner away, running. Klarion started laughing at their retreating forms, but it was slightly hysterical, too. When he dropped his arms and, with them, the bodies, Kory could see his knees trembling. He was probably making an incredible effort to stay standing. She thought she was the only one to notice just how much energy that stunt had pulled out of him, however. 

They had finally secured the Cornucopia for themselves. Step one was complete. The rest of it was still ahead of them.

“Is anyone injured?” Kory called out, looking around at her allies. Klarion looked tired, Tommy had recovered from his hurt pride after being beaten by Conner Kent and was looking smug, and Tuppence was frowning while staring at Klarion. None of them looked like they’d sustained injuries.

After they all grunted their answers, they crowded around at the mouth of the Cornucopia. That was the moment where it then became clear that the bloodbath was over; the three cannons sounded, and they all watched as the hovercrafts picked up the bodies. 

“So that was a success,” Tommy gloated, eyes scanning over the supplies they’d secured all for themselves. 

Klarion glared at him, his lips pursed. “I wouldn’t call that a _success_. Too many of them got away for my liking.”

Only three dead in the bloodbath was an unusual number to say the least, and she wasn’t sure what to attribute it to. Considering what she had seen of the abilities of some of her competitors, and what she knew about the rest, she wasn’t surprised that so many of them had fared well. They would just have to be better. 

“We lost a few weapons, and a minimal amount of supplies. I agree it is not ideal, but this is what we’re left to deal with now,” Kory said. “First order of business is divvying up the necessary tasks.”

She took in her allies, trying to see them for what they were – strategic choices, even if she personally didn’t trust them or enjoy their company. There was nothing she could do about it however, except get down to work.

“Tommy, Tuppence, you two will be guarding the Cornucopia. Until we figure out how to secure it, we’re going to take turns patrolling around it. Klarion, you’re with me. We’re going to be taking inventory of what supplies we have left.” Before the words had even left her mouth, she knew the twins would protest her decision.

“We’re not your servants to order around, District 1.” Tuppence sneered.

Tommy predictably sided with his sister. “We need to go after the other tributes, they’ve already got almost half a day’s headstart on us.” 

Kory resisted pinching the bridge of her nose. “Protecting our supplies is more important than wandering around the arena like gormless idiots hoping to stumble across an unlucky tribute. We’ll have plenty of time to fight them soon.”

“If they have night vision glasses in these crates we can even pick them off while they sleep.” Klarion added, taking Kory’s side. It was the smallest possible sign of support but it was appreciated, even if she couldn’t count on Klarion to be reliable. “Besides, if we wait until dark one of these idiots will light a fire and we can go have our fun.”

She wouldn’t have phrased it that way, but at least Klarion’s words sufficed to calm down the twins.

“If we’re done wasting time?” 

Kory could hear the twins grumbling obscenities under their breaths but they did as they were told. Small mercies. 

Turning to Klarion, she gestured to the Cornucopia before marching over to the mouth, not waiting to see if he was following her.

They sorted through box after box until they’d made an inventory of all the supplies. 

There were crates full of clothing, small blankets, and sleeping bags; others were filled with various vacuum sealed pouches of food. The walls were lined with weapons, and they’d brought in all the ones that had been spread out in front of the Cornucopia. 

There were three small boxes which were stacked on top of each other in the corner. The first was dedicated to first aid, the second had iodine, matches and other fire starting tools, and assorted survival tools such as spiles, multi-tool knives, and a 30 metre long spool of wire, and the last was full of hygiene products. 

Thirty minutes into the process, once she was certain that the twins wouldn’t come barging in, she went up to where Klarion was taking some metal drink canisters out of a box. She’d held off talking about it for this long. Grabbing him by the arm, she yanked him deeper into the Cornucopia.

“That stunt you pulled today, what were you thinking?” She hissed under her breath, her nails digging into his flesh. His hand flew up to grasp at hers, trying to pry her fingers off of him but failing. 

“I believe the words you’re looking for are ‘thank’ and ‘you’. My _stunt_ helped drive away the boy who had just handed Tommy his rear.” He was keeping up his unbothered facade, but Kory could see the hints of discomfort simmering under the mask.

“How were you even able to do that? You’re wearing a collar just like the rest of us are.” She kept her voice pitched low, knowing that this was not a conversation they wanted picked up by the cameras. 

The ever so familiar smirk graced his lips then, and Kory couldn’t stop herself from showing visible confusion at the expression.

“The Capitol can only suppress the powers it _knows_ about. And they don’t know everything.”

She was almost taken aback by his words. She couldn’t wrap her head around his way of thinking, this blatant disregard for the Capitol’s rules, and so she couldn’t get a read on him. No wonder he’d had such a hard time training with Nabu, he was downright chaotic.

With that the conversation ended, and they continued their job in silence, Kory mulling over Klarion’s words.

After they finished, she walked back outside to the mouth to signal to Tommy and Tuppence to make their way over after they’d finished their patrol of the perimeter. 

When they arrived, she took out the 4 packs she’d taken from the Cornucopia and handed them out to the group.

“We need to fill them with essentials; food, water and medicine. If you have any extra space you can pack whatever else you want, be it traps, matches, whatever. We’ve organised the Cornucopia by necessity, for convenience.” She explained. “The armor is next to the weapons, pick out whatever you want.”

As she and Klarion had already put on their armor and selected their weapons, they took that time to sit down by the mouth, using some empty crates as chairs. Kory extended her sword in front of her, watching the light of the lantern from the Cornucopia glimmer on the blade. Klarion played with the same swirls of magic he’d shown off in the interviews.

Tommy and Tuppence walked out of the Cornucopia a few minutes later, energies high after having looked through weapons. They had armored themselves up, and Tommy was carrying a long, hefty spear while Tuppence had strapped knives onto herself and was holding a heavy looking bat. 

Getting more crates to sit on, they settled down next to Kory and Klarion. Tuppence handed out some packs of dried mangoes, a thoughtful gesture that Kory was baffled by for a second. The confusion faded away when Tuppence opened her mouth.

“What’s next, then, great leader?” 

Even though she knew Tuppence was mocking her, she answered anyway. “We have to figure out which tributes pose the biggest threat, and which ones we have to go after fir-”

“I want to go for 4.” Tommy interrupted. “They need to learn that you can’t disrespect District 2 and get away with it.”

Kory took in a deep breath, silently sending up a prayer to X’hal to give her the strength to deal with her insufferable teammates. “What is your plan for finding them? Do you have any idea where they’re hiding out?”

Tommy frowned, and she knew he didn’t. Kory had foreseen this, however, and she’d made sure to keep an eye out for the directions the highest priority tributes had gone in during and after the bloodbath. 

Kaldur and Tula had been on the other side of the Cornucopia, so Kory didn’t know exactly where they’d gone but she’d be willing to bet they’d stayed near a water source. Victor had been on the other side too, and it was anyone’s guess as to where he’d gone off to.

What she had seen though, was Dick Grayson and his district partner run off to the east before they’d disappeared into the fog. She assumed that they’d holed up somewhere in that direction, far enough away from the Cornucopia that they’d not be spotted. She shook her head, trying to stop herself from thinking about him. 

She remembered a moment at the beginning of the bloodbath, when she’d been stood next to M’gann M’orzz. The other girl had been standing there when the gong sounded, but she’d disappeared shortly after. Even if she wasn’t a tribute Kory was worried about currently she couldn’t make sense of it, which had been bugging her all afternoon. What powers did the girl have, and if she could disappear from sight what else could she do?

She spared a thought for where Donna Troy had gone to after their fight in the Cornucopia. In another situation, she would have made for a great ally. As it stood, she would be fierce competition. Her thoughts drifted to Conner Kent, and his district partner Kara Zor-El… She was worried at how easy it had been for them to go through both the male tribute from District 11, and Tommy. They would definitely be their top priority; she only hoped that when they finally found them, that Tommy and Tuppence wouldn’t rush into a fight recklessly.

She shared the vital parts of the information, leaving out the more private thoughts. Tommy and Tuppence looked impressed, if only slightly, and it satisfied Kory greatly. 

“The two from 10 won’t get away from us next time we see them, you can count on that.” Tuppence voiced, as if she’d heard Kory’s internal monologue and wanted to accomplish giving Kory the biggest headache she could.

“And we have Klarion’s secret trump card too.” Tommy thumped Klarion on the back as he spoke, and Klarion veered forward in his seat to avoid the touch as much as he could.

“He’s right.” Klarion said, the words looking as if they pained him to say. “You can’t rely on it too much, though. Who knows if I’ll be in the mood to use it in your favor.”

“Stop that. As long as you’ve allied yourself with us, you will help us. If you don’t want to, or you’re not _in the mood_ for it, you’re free to go on your own.” She didn’t like antagonizing the one ally she didn’t dislike, but she couldn’t have him thinking he could get away with that. “Is that clear?”

Klarion raised an eyebrow at her, amused if not taken aback by her harshness, and nodded.

“For now we’ll keep getting acquainted with the arena. We can go out tonight with the night vision glasses and scout the area; if we happen to come into anyone, only then we’ll attack.” Kory decided. “It would not be smart to wander off when we’re not sure what’s out there.”

The sky was beginning to darken, and because of the fog they still didn’t know much about what the arena looked like. While they continued eating, Kory passed around a water canister, but she could tell it wouldn’t be much longer before the twins insisted on going out. Klarion looked impatient to do something, too. 

After the garbage had been cleared away they all stood up, raring to go.

“I’ll stay behind.” Kory announced. She didn’t trust the others to not get excited about a perspective kill and run off, leaving the Cornucopia unguarded. She didn’t want to spend the whole Games playing guard dog, but she would take this one for the team, so to speak. 

Tuppence surprised her again, electing to stay behind with Kory instead of going off with her brother. Kory was a little glad about that, hoping that Klarion would be a taming factor for Tommy, or at the very least not rile him up further. 

She turned to the blonde girl next to her. Tuppence was leant up against the Cornucopia, with a bored look on her face.

“If waiting for tributes to stumble in front of us is how the whole Games will be spent then I’ll probably die of boredom.”

Kory hummed noncommittally in response, and they watched the retreating backs of Tommy and Klarion get smaller and smaller as they got further away. 

* * *

As soon as the gong sounded, M’gann was gone.

Not _gone_ gone, but rather invisible, or as invisible as she could get with her foggy-window-pane camouflage. It took a lot of energy out of her, but if there was a moment to use it, it was now, when every single tribute was in the same place and she was completely exposed.

She had barely started to set foot off her platform when a tribute sped past in front of her. There was a backpack on his shoulder, already, and he kept running not towards the mouth of the Cornucopia but towards a little girl who seemed to be waiting for him. He picked her up – slowing down as he had to carry her – and they disappeared into the fog.

It took her a second to match the face to the name, but with his ginger hair and, most notably, his speed, she knew that was Wally West. A pretty nice, funny guy she’d talked to once or twice during training.

She’d considered using her camouflage to get something useful from the Cornucopia, but now that she was noticing the Career Tributes next to her heading that way she quickly tossed aside the idea. If she didn’t get anything from the Cornucopia, however, she’d have better chances allying herself with someone. And she’d just seen Wally West, one of the few people she’d somewhat interacted with, run away with a backpack… which probably did have supplies. 

He seemed like someone who would be open to an alliance, with what she knew of him. He’d been open enough with her back in the Training Center. It was decided, then.

So she turned around, her mind set on following him – them, because he hadn’t run off alone. He was nowhere to be seen now, but as long as she stayed close enough she could pick up their trail with her telepathy, at least to know the direction they were going.

After turning to run away from the Cornucopia, she had to physically stop herself from running into someone walking only a few feet away from her pod. _Clumsy, M’gann, clumsy_. She was about to walk around him so he wouldn’t know she was there, when the guy looked directly into her eyes. Then smirked at her.

Well, that wasn’t ideal. 

She knew her invisibility wasn’t perfect, but he’d noticed her _way_ too fast. How had he done that? Her mind quickly went over what to do now – punch him? Kick him? She didn’t have anything to throw at him. He didn’t have any weapons, either. He was still looking at her with that annoying smirk on his face, probably revelling in the fact that he’d caught her, and that he seemed to be the only one who had. 

A scream coming from the Cornucopia saved her, in the end. It distracted him for only a second, but it was long enough that she could run into the fog and leave him behind. Afraid that he’d follow her, she kept running, ditching her camouflage so she could put all her energy towards going as fast as she could. 

Going in a straight line she ended up running into an abandoned park, and soon she was completely surrounded by green and away from the dull grays that surrounded the Cornucopia. She stopped with her back to a tree trunk – mossy, humid to the touch – and caught her breath. _Calm down. You’re safe now. Think_. 

She took in her surroundings, seeing the lushness of the greenery. It was a sharp contrast to the dismal concrete that had housed the tribute pods. The trees and bushes had taken over what must have once been a park, growing around benches and lampposts, hiding paths; over her head they hid the sky, too, only a hint of sunlight streaming through the gaps in the leaves.

Her breathing got even only once she’d gotten a hold on everything in her vicinity and confirmed that she was now alone. Her heart was still pounding in her ears. It made it hard to focus, but she had to. She’d lost Wally’s tracks, and every second that passed he could be getting farther away. Closing her eyes, she willed her mind to expand, trying to feel for his presence again.

As far as she could tell, Wally hadn’t gone into the park; there was no one else here yet. Maybe if she cut through it, she could catch up to him before they were gone for good. While she was here, though, she could see if she could find any food while walking through. All those edible plant lessons in training had to pay off, sometime. 

The deeper she walked, the thicker the foliage got. Just as she was starting to lose hope that she’d find anything to eat, she came across a little isolated bush that was brimming with small dark berries.

She bent down and recognized them as regular blackberries so she picked them all from the bush, working quickly to strip it clean, before carefully wrapping them in some leaves she’d picked out. It wasn’t exactly the most hygienic thing ever, but beggars couldn’t be choosers, and she’s taken extra care to make sure that she’d found the cleanest leaves she could. Using both leaves and some bendy branches she tightly wove a pouch to carry everything more easily.

She found some nettles, remembering the training instructor’s words that if you boiled it, it would become an edible treat. After some deliberation, she picked several dandelions too, along with their leaves. Once she’d finished collecting all she could find, she sat back on her haunches. What was considered a veritable feast in the arena, was abysmally poor by the standards of the Capitol, which M’gann had spent the past few days indulging in. 

She tied the pouch with the food to her suit and stood up before focusing on using her telepathy again, stretching her mind out to see if she could feel anything.

Finally, she caught something, like a faint nudge or a suggestion. It wasn’t much, but it was all she had to go on. She had a direction now, and she was determined not to lose it. 

When she came out through the other side of the park, that nudge transformed into a clear image and she knew she was getting near. The area she had walked into was full of sloped streets and tall, narrow buildings crowded together; looking up at the looming skyscrapers made her feel as if they were closing in on her, about to fall and asphyxiate her. She sped up her pace.

She was almost sure she’d found the building they’d gone into – she could catch glimpses of their thoughts and emotions –, and was trying to think of the best way to approach them, when she realized something was wrong.

It started only as a tugging sensation at the bottom of her stomach, then that sensation started twisting around, making her feel weak, like her knees wanted to give out. Where was this coming from? Something in the air?

She braced herself against a building wall and tried to figure out where this was coming from. She felt dizzyingly faint, and her head was swimming. It felt like she was on a boat, rocking back and forth with the sway of the waves, even though she knew she was on solid land. Dragging her feet forward took everything she had, and she only managed a couple of steps before she had to put her back to the wall. Walking was impossible if every step she took made her feel like she’d trip on her own feet and her knees didn’t stop trembling.

The feeling softened it’s chokehold for a few minutes and she gasped for air. She didn’t know how but she was on the floor, on her hands and knees. She had to figure this out before the sensation came back.

It came back with renewed force, feeling like a punch to the gut. It was so strong that tears pricked in her eyes. If she wasn’t on the floor already, she would’ve probably fallen on her knees immediately. She blinked so hard she felt the tears spill out, but the spinning didn’t go away.

Scrabbling for purchase against the crumbling wall, she tried to push herself up to a standing position, before her foot caught on a loose paving stone and she tumbled back to the ground.Her hands scraped against the ground when she tried to catch herself. Slower this time, she tried to push herself upright – catching a glimpse of red on her palms when she brought them up –, but her hold on the wall gave out from under her and she was on her knees again. 

She gritted her teeth in annoyance. She had to figure out a way to get up, or at least a way to crawl out of there if she had to. Every second she was on the floor, or out of commission due to nausea, she was vulnerable to threat.

She closed her eyes, feeling the world spinning. Her stomach rolled in discomfort, and she felt saliva flooding her mouth in preparation to vomit. She just wanted it to stop. There had to be something she could do...

“Stop.” She croaked out, her throat raw. Had she been screaming? She swallowed back a sob. “Stop!” 

All of a sudden, she felt something cold trickling down her neck. Then, almost all at once, the nausea was gone, and the dizziness had subsided for the most part. She sucked in a breath, practically delirious with relief. She tried once more to stand up, and this time she managed it. She let herself rest against the wall again, secure in the knowledge that the Gamemakers’ trick was over. Closing her eyes she sighed, relaxing her body.

The force of the nausea made tears spring to her eyes again. Her eyes flew open. No… no! It was over!

It _had_ to be over! 

Just as suddenly as it had come back, the feeling was gone again, reduced to only a discomfort in the back of her head. She paused in her tracks, running through the events in her head. She’d wanted the feelings to stop the first time, and they did. She let herself relax, and they had returned. And then, again, she’d somehow… _willed_ them away. She didn’t know that was even possible.

She was distracted from her thoughts by the sound of retching coming from behind her. She turned to see Wally bent over on the sidewalk throwing up the contents of his stomach, the young girl he’d been with not far behind, stumbling out of the building.

 _I need to help them_ , she thought. But how? Would what she did, whatever it was, even work on other people? She didn’t know. All she knew was that she had to try.

Still a little woozy, she hobbled over to where they were hunched over. Not knowing how they would react to seeing another tribute while they were so vulnerable, she held her hands out in front of her, in the universal gesture of surrender. As she stepped closer, she saw Wally raise his head in her direction.

“I can help you. I can stop the pain.”

He had a disbelieving look on his face, but he was in too much pain to argue and didn’t try to back away from her. Standing in front of them, she crouched down to their level and places one hand on each of their shoulders. She closed her eyes – hoping they would see it as a sign of trust – and focused. 

There wasn’t that much she could do while wearing the collar - she could feel how she was stretching her own limits. She did her best to try and picture a force field around them, willing the sickness to stay away from them. 

They both took a couple seconds to regain their breath. Wally straightened up, the paleness of his face making his freckles stand out in sharp contrast. He regarded her with a mixture of confusion and recognition.

“How did you do that?” He asked her. Then he furrowed his brow. “ _Why_ did you do that?”

“I…” She took a moment to consider how best to answer the questions. After all, this could make or break the alliance she wanted to forge with them. “You looked like you were in pain. And I had a way to ease it. I just wanted to help.”

“And what do you want in return?” The girl piped up from where she was standing next to Wally, looking wary.

She bit her lip. “I want to be allies.” She extended her hand out to them.

Wally’s eyes flicked down to her hand, then back up to meet her own. She was nervously holding her breath for the answer when she saw him smile- an easygoing smile- before reaching out to grasp her hand and shake it.

“Welcome to the team.”

* * *

Scattered around the Cornucopia at random were a bunch of old wooden crates. What was inside them was a mystery. There could be supplies, or death traps, just waiting for a tribute to try their luck. Or they could be empty; tricks to fool a poor unlucky sucker into wasting valuable time.

Roy figured he would try his chances. He was already a poor unlucky sucker, anyway. 

He felt Artemis at his back as he reached the nearest crate.

“What are you doing?!” She whisper-yelled, voice incredulous.

He ignored her question, picking up a small dagger from the floor. “Watch my back.”

He used the dagger to break open one of the crates. As soon as the lid came off the smell of rancid food filled the air.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he cursed.

“Oh god, what _is_ that?” Artemis’ hands flew up to cover her nose and mouth.

“The wrong box, evidently.” Roy deadpanned. Artemis glared at him and he took the hint, moving swiftly to the nearest crate. He cranked it open, and inside were two quivers, filled with fourteen arrows each. He smiled triumphantly, holding up one of the quivers to show Artemis.

“No freaking way!” She eyed up another crate. “Do you think that one has the bows?”

“Let’s find out.” He paused for a moment, considering, before pointing at a crate opposite the one Artemis was looking at. “You check that one and I’ll check this one?”

“Deal. The quicker we get out of here the better.” Roy agreed; they only had a few seconds before someone took notice of them. All around them was the sound of metal clashing against metal and the screams of their fellow tributes. Though it came from the other side of the Cornucopia, it sounded a million miles away.

He moved quickly towards the other crate, looking around to check that they were still alone. There was no one close to them; he thought he could see someone move at the edge of the fog, but whoever it was disappeared almost as soon as he saw them. Not exactly comforted by that he kept going, sliding the same dagger under the top of the crate carefully - he was still not discounting possible death traps -, and soon he got it open. 

The first thing he saw were thick blankets; not useless, it was already getting cold. But definitely not what he was looking for. He was trying not to let discouragement get the best of him when he removed the blankets, and there they were. 

Two collapsible bows were just sitting way at the bottom of the crate, underneath layers of fabric. They looked like a dream. He grabbed both of them and started to stand up to show off to Artemis.

“Hey Art, look what I-”

He was interrupted by a punch to the face. He acted on instinct, swinging his right arm to hit his attacker on the head with the bow. There was a thud as he fell on his back on the pavement, unconscious. Only then he got a good look at him: it was the tribute from District 10, if memory served him right. If nothing else, he was at least memorable for his light blue skin and sharp, icy appearance.

Artemis ran to his side. “Is he…” 

Roy shook his head. He could see his chest move with his breaths. “He’s unconscious. He won’t stay like that for long, we should get going.”

“I found an empty backpack in my crate. The only useful thing, really.” Artemis said, lifting it up to show Roy. It was black and grey with lots of pockets, and it looked like it could’ve once been sturdy but had started to fall apart. It could still carry things, though. “We should try to fill it up at least.”

Roy looked at the knocked out guy, considering. He looked pretty out, so maybe they had a few minutes. “We can fit one small blanket from my crate. Let’s try to get some other stuff too, but stay close.”

Artemis nodded, taking one of the bows from his hands. There were small supplies scattered around near the boxes, not nearly as good as the ones inside the Cornucopia, but good enough to make a difference. Roy grabbed a blanket and started picking up small things: two half-gallon water jugs, some rope, a box of matches. He saw Artemis put a loaf of bread and some wire inside the backpack. 

He was walking towards where she was to put his things away, when all of a sudden the temperature dropped.

Roy felt a blast whizz past his face, wind whistling in his ear. This was a new threat. He turned to see the tribute he’d thought was down for the count stood with his arms held out in front of him. His palms were already starting to glow white again.

“Duck!” Artemis called out, dropping the backpack she was holding.

She plucked an arrow from her quiver and in the blink of an eye it was sprouting from their attacker’s throat. His blood was crimson, and the contrast of it against his icy blue skin as it spilled from the wound was startling. He stumbled back, his eyes wide open for a second, before falling on his back. The blood stained the pavement red and Roy couldn’t tear his eyes away from it.

There was a beat.

“We should get out of here.” Roy mumbled, his voice slightly hoarse. 

They were the only ones left on their side of the Cornucopia. No one else bothered them as they ran into the fog. 

They ran to put as much distance from the Cornucopia as they could, following the streets, straight and organized at first but getting increasingly crooked as they went on. Roy wanted to get out of this foggy area quickly; he didn’t know if the fog was dangerous, and that should’ve been his biggest concern, but what really bothered him was the low visibility. Not ideal when your weapon of choice was a bow and arrows. 

These were all thoughts guiding him from the back of his head, short, concise, survival instincts. He couldn’t stop to mull things over, because if he did all he’d be able to think about would be the guy who just died so he could live.

He checked on Artemis a few times, and the expression she was wearing was blank. Not carefully neutral or like she was trying to suppress something, just… blank. If she caught him looking, she didn’t acknowledge him. She didn’t speak to him, either.

The way she pushed herself to keep going, never stopping or showing weakness, reminded him so much of Jade. 

Finally the fog started clearing. They were following what looked like an old highway, and Roy felt exposed, but they hadn’t seen anyone in a while. He gripped his bow tighter. The highway turned into a long bridge crossing a big body of muddy water. It was crumbling in some places, big chunks of concrete missing and exposing the structure, but other than that it looked solid. 

If they didn’t cross the bridge, their only other option was to turn right and follow the edge of the water towards a place that looked like docks. There was a rocky shore and nothing else to their left, and the fog to their backs. 

Artemis started going without consulting him, decidedly stepping onto the bridge. Roy didn’t comment on it. He followed her steps, avoiding the more unstable places. Soon they didn’t have a choice, though, because unless they retraced their steps and found another option, the only way forward was crossing a thin stretch of concrete. The empty spaces to their sides let them see the water beneath, and it didn’t look welcoming. 

She went first, but Roy kept close behind. When they were almost there, she stepped on a section that had started cracking, and it moved under her weight just enough that her foot slipped. 

That exact moment, the cannons started sounding, signaling the end of the bloodbath. They almost felt like a warning as Artemis lost balance, and Roy saw her start to fall as if in slow motion. 

At the last second, his hand found her arm, and he clasped it tightly. The third and last cannon was still echoing. 

“I’ve got you,” he said as he hoisted her back up. 

She shook his arm away when she was safely standing again. “Thanks.”

After that, she took slow steps. 

It was a long day. Hours passed and they kept walking, while Roy tried to ignore the pangs of hunger he felt every so often. They had the bread Artemis had managed to get at the Cornucopia, but it was so little that Roy was reluctant to suggest eating it so early. They did pass one of the water jugs between them, taking small sips, and that was something to feel thankful for, at least. 

Roy had to stop himself from thinking this wasn’t that hard several times. Of course it wouldn’t be yet; the easy entertainment had come from the bloodbath already, and it might be some time before the Gamemakers felt like they needed to make things fun again. Games could last for as long or as short as the arena and the tributes themselves made them last; there were still a lot of them for the audience to focus on, a lot of them who could potentially be fighting each other right now.

It was just that he hadn’t expected the Games to get so… quiet.

They stopped once they’d put enough distance between them and the bloodbath and the chaos. The sun was setting, though the only sign of it was the heavy clouds getting darker and orange-tinged behind the skyline. Roy looked around: they were standing in the middle of a wide road that curved slightly, in an area where the buildings were wide and low, considerably less modern than the ones they’d seen before, almost historical looking. 

Then he spotted the perfect hideout: barely visible from the street, inside an alley one of the walls had a hole in it, just big enough to pass through and let them keep an eye on the outside. He nudged Artemis towards it, and she followed him wordlessly. Even after the scare at the bridge, the blank expression hadn’t abandoned her face. 

Inside the hole the room was small, but there was space for both of them to stretch out. They used the last moments of natural light they would get today to take inventory. 

They had the two bows – Roy still couldn’t believe how lucky they’d gotten with the crates. Roy’s quiver held fourteen arrows, and Artemis’ thirteen; all in all, a good number. In the shock of the moment, they hadn’t thought to get back the arrow that Artemis shot at the Cornucopia. The thought of pulling it out of the guy’s neck wasn’t pleasant, but running out of arrows would be less so. They couldn’t make that mistake again.

Artemis was silently zipping open the backpack. She dug out the blanket from the bottom first, and started piling their supplies on top of it. Water jugs, box of matches, rope, bread, wire, and some rubbing alcohol. They also had the dagger Roy had used to open the crates, and a knife that Artemis had picked up.

Putting everything away but the food and the blanket, Roy cut two slices of bread and passed one to Artemis. She mumbled her thanks and they ate in silence. Roy kept an eye on the hole in the wall, his back against one of the corners of the room. He refused to start feeling paranoid about every shadow he saw outside. It was hard. 

After, they started working with their supplies, trying to make the most of the spare things they had. Roy prided himself in being inventive, but he was tired and his brain refused to cooperate at the moment. 

Roy put down the wire he was mindlessly fiddling with and sat back a little, observing as Artemis used her knife to sharpen the sticks into points. She was methodical in her work, accustomed to making snares. It was hard to see in the darkness, the shadows of the room making her face look somber even after his eyes had adjusted. 

She threw down the knife and snapped her head up to face him.

“What?!” She spat out. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

Roy said nothing, choosing instead to keep looking at her.He had experience with the Nguyen sisters, and he knew how to make them talk. If you pushed at them with invasive questions they’d shut down and push back with snippy comments. If you kept quiet, eventually they’d give and say something to get rid of the silence.

“You’re judging me.” She accused.

“Why would I be judging you?” he asked. 

She didn’t answer, only stared at him, her eyes hard.

He sighed. “You did what you had to do, Artemis. I would never judge you for that.” A part of him wondered if they could’ve gotten away differently, and he tried to shove that down. There was no place for that kind of wondering in the Games. 

Artemis was gripping the snare she’d been working on tightly, but when she spoke, her voice was small. “I’m not like my family.” 

“You don’t have to be anything you don’t want. You get to decide what kind of person you’re going to be.”

Artemis opened her mouth to reply, but she was interrupted by the sound of the anthem. It was time for the recap of the day’s deaths. They walked out of the shelter they had found, standing at the entrance to be able to look up at the sky. They could see the Capitol seal floating in the sky. The anthem faded out and the sky went dark for a moment, before it showed a picture of the male tribute from District 7.

The next picture was of the boy from District 10, the one Artemis had shot in order to protect Roy. He turned to look at her expression, and saw her staring intently at the floor. He didn’t say anything, just reached out and took her hand in his; a gesture of comfort and solidarity.

The last picture was of the young girl from District 11, and Roy felt a lump in his throat as he looked at the picture of her smiling face. She was the same age as Cissie, and only a year younger than Mia. He couldn’t imagine fighting in the games at that age; it wasn’t fair.

The Capitol seal came back, and the music swelled for a moment before both cut out, and the sky was dark and the night silent once more.

Roy gestured for Artemis to go back inside first, ducking into the room behind her. They settled back down in the places they’d vacated. After a small silence, when it seemed like Artemis didn’t have anything else to say, Roy passed her the blanket. “Get some sleep. I’ll take first watch.”

She nodded and lay on her side under the blanket. She curled up into a ball, making herself small. 

The hours passed uneventfully, making it especially hard not to nod off. He didn’t. He wished he had some cold water to throw on his face, though. Looking for something to do, he resumed Artemis’ task of sharpening the stakes for the snares.

After an especially close call where his eyes closed for several seconds without him realizing, he was deliberating whether to wake her up. She looked so peaceful, but she’d get mad if he let her sleep the whole night. Plus he was no good keeping watch like this. 

He had his decision made for him when a deafening _crash_ came from outside and startled her awake. It was still dark, and through the darkness they looked at each other while they heard the commotion outside. There were screeches and groans, and it was all undercut by clicking sounds. 

“What the hell?” Artemis whispered.

Roy shrugged, “I don’t know, but it doesn’t sound good.” 

They both jumped up, slinging the quivers onto their backs before taking their bows and jumping into action. 


End file.
